PIN : 081039–000
Providing the Means of War 

Historical Perspectives 

on Defense Acquisition, 

1945–2000

Shannon A. Brown

General Editor

United States Army Center of Military History 

and

Industrial College of the armed forces

Washington, D.C., 2005
First Printing—CMH Pub 70–87–1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Providing the means of war : historical perspectives on defense acquisition, 1945–

2000 / Shannon A. Brown, general editor.

 p. cm.

1. United States—Armed Forces—Procurement—History—20th century—

Congresses. I. Brown, Shannon A. II. Title.

UC263.P79 2005

 355.6’212’097309045—dc22

 2005042041
Foreword

Acquisition as defined by the Department of Defense denotes our 

national security establishment harnessing the scientific and engineering knowledge of military and civilian professionals to create the tools of 

modern war. It encompasses research and development, engineering, contracting, test and evaluation, fielding, and disposal of weapon systems and 

other forms of technology that are vital to the nation. The acquisition process includes resource-management and strategic decisions that determine 

the new forms of technology that are developed.

The Industrial College of the Armed Forces (ICAF)—which is celebrating its eightieth anniversary in 2004—is dedicated to supporting 

the study of national security decision-making and understanding the 

vital defense acquisition process that supports it. The U.S. Army Center 

of Military History (CMH) is committed to having the study of the past 

inform the decisions of the future. This book, a product of both institutions, is an important contribution to understanding the complex relationships that characterize the defense acquisition process central to our shared 

missions and goals.

These pages highlight the papers and presentations from the defense 

acquisition symposium, Providing the Means of War. Held on 10–12 

September 2001, the symposium was organized by CMH historians with 

the assistance of the ICAF faculty. During the second day of the conference, the connections between national security strategy and resource 

management became the subject of even more reflective discussion as the 

tragedies of 11 September unfolded. Since the watershed events of that 

day, the U.S. armed forces have been battling terrorism around the globe 

and are in the throes of an institutional transformation to meet twenty-first 

century challenges. The history of acquisition—and the acquisition community—can teach us much about institutional changes, the American 

response to global threats, and how resources can be best applied to 

address them. 

The motto of the Industrial College of the Armed Forces is Industria 

et Defensio Inseparabiles (“Industry and Defense Are Inseparable”). True 

to this spirit, the contributions in this volume show that the acquisition 

process is a shared burden, with both private industry and the American 

government having important roles to play. We trust that these papers will 

iii
enhance our awareness of this process and of the inseparable partnerships 

that continue to provide our men and women in uniform with the most 

modern and capable means of war. 

Washington, D.C.

15 March 2005

Frances C. Wilson John S. Brown

Major General, USMC Brigadier General, USA (Ret.)

Commandant Chief of Military History

Industrial College of the Armed Forces
Preface

This book, Providing the Means of War: Historical Perspectives on 

Defense Acquisition, 1945–2000, is based on the papers presented at an 

Acquisition History Symposium that took place on 10–12 September 

2001. While acquisition is always a critical and timely subject, this conference gained special meaning because of the dates on which it was 

held. On the second day of the conference, two planes slammed into the 

World Trade Center in New York, a third smashed into the Pentagon in 

Washington, and a fourth crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. For those 

who might be tempted to think of the symposium as an academic exercise, the events that took place on 11 September serve as a reminder that 

the outcomes of the defense acquisition process have sweeping strategic 

consequences. For good or ill, our country and the men and women in the 

armed forces depend on the products and services obtained through this 

process for the defense of the nation. While acquisition is frequently a 

contentious process, at once political, technical, and managerial, the chapters presented here illustrate both the remarkable achievements of the system and the ongoing struggle to transform to support the changing needs 

of the military. As a nation, we have experienced remarkable changes in 

technology, doctrine, and capabilities during the fifty-five years following 

World War II. The security environment of the first years of the twentyfirst century calls for continuing, indeed, increased flexibility, speed, and 

the capacity to change.

The Department of Defense (DoD) is facilitating an understanding of 

the past through the Acquisition History Project. This symposium represented the first major product of that ongoing project. The defense community, we hope, will build on the experiences of others, for the benefit of 

those who depend on the capabilities developed by the DoD and its industrial partners. The Defense Acquisition History Project is one way for the 

acquisition community to learn about the past and illuminate our understanding of contemporary and future issues. The project is truly a joint 

effort, looking back at case histories from the Army, Navy, and Air Force, 

as well as from the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD). 
vi

Creating and nurturing joint endeavors often takes vision and persistence. This Acquisition History Project owes its existence to the late 

Dr. James H. Edgar. It was his vision, creativity, and persistence that 

pulled the services and OSD together to sponsor this important effort. The 

acquisition community lost a valued member and a dear friend with Jim’s 

untimely passing not long after this symposium. A long-time acquisition professional and a Senior Executive in the Department of the Army, 

Dr. Edgar is represented in this volume by his article, “The Origins and 

Impact of the Defense Acquisition Workforce Improvement Act.” It is 

fitting that Dr. Edgar’s chapter deals with the acquisition workforce. Not 

only was he instrumental in the crafting of this legislation during his time 

on Capitol Hill, but he also cared deeply for the acquisition workforce and 

always strove to advance the capabilities of that workforce so that it might 

better serve the nation’s needs. He was always interested in education and 

training for the workforce, and he personally loved learning. It was in the 

convergence of his love of learning and the needs of the workforce that 

this project began, and it is only fitting that this first volume be dedicated 

to Dr. Edgar. He touched many lives in many ways, and this project is only 

one of his many concrete works by which he will be remembered. 

Shortly after 11 September, our nation engaged in military action 

in Afghanistan. Our men and women brought with them their skill and 

determination, plus the strategies and the military capabilities developed 

by the Department of Defense and the industrial base that supports it. 

The national security community demonstrated remarkable flexibility 

and ability. History teaches us that we have many names for our continuous efforts to maximize and make effective our DoD processes. Whether 

called revolution, reform, transformation, or any other name, what we do 

to maximize the effectiveness of defense acquisition really matters. In the 

memory of visionaries like Dr. Jim Edgar, and to those who depend on the 

fruits of our work, we look back at history, to learn better how to approach 

the future.

September 2003 Linda S. Brandt

Industrial College 

of the Armed Forces
vii

Contents

Page

Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Introduction

Shannon A. Brown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

Defense Acquisition History Symposium

Keynote Address

J. Ronald Fox . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19

Part I: Into the Cold War

Into the Cold War: An Overview of Acquisition in the

Department of Defense, 1945–1958

Elliott V. Converse III . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

SOSUS, the Navy, and Bell Labs

Gary E. Weir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

Weapons, “Weak” States, and the Military Contract

System: The Case of RAND and the Air Force, 

1945–1950

Martin J. Collins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

Part II: The McNamara Legacy

Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968:

The McNamara Legacy

Walter S. Poole . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79

Building Missiles: Concurrency and the Legacy of the

Early Air Force ICBM Program

John Lonnquest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97

Seeds of a Revolution: Maritime UAVs in the 1960s

Thomas P. Ehrhard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
viii

Part III: Retrenchment and Reform

Defense Acquisition in the 1970s: Retrenchment

and Reform

Shannon A. Brown with Walton S. Moody . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141

Money, Management, and Manpower: Important

Variables in the Design and Acquisition of

Oliver Hazard Perry-Class Frigates

Timothy L. Francis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169

Moving Target: The U.S. Army Infantry Fighting Vehicle

Program in the 1970s

W. Blair Haworth, Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183

Part IV: Acquisition in the 1980s

An Overview of Acquisition, 1981–1990

Andrew J. Butrica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199

The Strategic Defense Initiative and Acquisition

Reform: The Case of Brilliant Pebbles

Donald R. Baucom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225

The Origins and Impact of the Defense Acquisition

Workforce Improvement Act (DAWIA)

James H. Edgar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261

Part V: Post-Cold War Acquisition

Defense Acquisition in an Uncertain World: 

The Post-Cold War Era, 1990–2000 

Philip L. Shiman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283

Reducing Acquisition Cycle Time: Creating a

Fast and Responsive Acquisition System

Ross T. McNutt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317

The Transition Dilemma: Research and Development

in the 1990s

Mark L. Montroll . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339

Symposium Closing Remarks

B. F. Cooling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353
ix

Part VI: 11 September 2001: Round Table

Discussion on Defense Acquisition

Linda Brandt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367

Jacques S. Gansler

Paul Ignatius

Paul G. Kaminski

Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 393

Acknowledgments

Editorship is never a lonely experience, and a great many people 

assisted with this book. 

Dr. Jeffrey Clarke of the U.S. Army Center of Military History (CMH) 

at Ft. Lesley J. McNair, Washington, D.C., gave me the opportunity to edit 

this volume and provided outstanding oversight and “top cover” during the 

Providing the Means of War symposium held from 10–12 September 2001. 

The papers included here were originally presented at that symposium, 

which served as a capstone event for the first year of the multiyear Defense 

Acquisition History Project. As the Chief Historian of the Army and the 

government official supervising the ongoing project, Dr. Clarke continues 

to support my work and the work of the other team members.

I owe special thanks to the authors who contributed to this collection. 

After being asked to participate in the 2001 symposium, many of them 

prepared their papers on very short notice. All were a pleasure to work with, 

and I hope they are satisfied with the final result of our collective labors. 

For their participation in the symposium and willingness to contribute 

to this book, I am especially indebted to Professor J. Ronald Fox of 

the Harvard Business School, Dr. Jacques Gansler of the University of 

Maryland (former Under Secretary of Defense, Acquisition, Technology, 

and Logistics), Paul Ignatius (former Secretary of the Navy), and Dr. 

Paul Kaminski (former Under Secretary of Defense, Acquisition and 

Technology).

The members of the Defense Acquisition History Project oversight board 

played an important role in supporting the symposium and securing the 

participation of certain key Department of Defense acquisition professionals 

who made the symposium a success. My thanks go to Brig. Gen. (ret.) David 

Armstrong, Chief Historian of the Joint History Office; Blaise Durante, 

Deputy Assistant Secretary for Acquisition Integration (Office of the Assistant 

Secretary of the Air Force for Acquisition); Dr. Alfred Goldberg and Dr. 

Stuart Rochester of the Office of the Secretary of Defense Historical Office; 

Janet Hassan of the Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Air Force 

for Acquisition; Capt. (ret.) Michael Jaggard, former Executive Director, 
2 Providing the Means of War

Acquisition and Business Management, Office of the Assistant Secretary of 

the Navy (Research, Development, and Acquisition); Dr. Edward Marolda 

and Dr. William Dudley of the Naval Historical Center; Charles Melson of 

the Marine Corps History and Museums Division; Robert Nemetz, Principal 

Deputy, Acquisition Resources and Analysis, Office of the Under Secretary 

of Defense (Acquisition and Technology); Jacob Neufeld, Air Force History 

Support Office; and Susan Vickers, Office of the Assistant Secretary of the 

Army (Acquisition, Logistics, and Technology). Another member of the 

project oversight board, Dr. James Edgar, former Director of Acquisition and 

Procurement Policy Reform, Assistant Secretary of the Army (Acquisition, 

Technology, and Logistics), was a champion of the Acquisition History 

Project and of this volume. Unfortunately, Dr. Edgar passed away in late 

2001, shortly after the Providing the Means of War symposium was held. He 

will be missed.

To Dr. Elliott Converse, I express my gratitude for kind assistance and 

editorial support provided throughout the preparation of this book. He, and 

the other members of the Defense Acquisition History Project—Dr. Walton 

Moody, Dr. Walter Poole, Dr. Andrew Butrica, and Dr. Philip Shiman—are 

the best a scholar could hope for in friends and colleagues. An outstanding 

editor, Dr. Carolyn Höfig, assisted with the final preparation of this volume, 

and I owe her a great debt of gratitude for her efforts.

Professor Linda Brandt and Professor B.F. Cooling of the Industrial 

College of the Armed Forces (ICAF) were strong advocates of this volume. 

Both scholars continue to lend their support to the Defense Acquisition 

History Project. 

I must also extend my thanks to the men and women of the U.S. Army 

Center of Military History at Ft. McNair. My thanks especially go to Brig. 

Gen. (Ret.) John S. Brown, Chief of Military History; from the CMH 

Library, Bob Wright, John McGrath, and Jim Knight; and, from the CMH 

Production Services Division, John Elsberg, Keith Tidman, Teresa Jameson, 

and Beth MacKenzie. 

Similarly, the senior leadership of ICAF has earned my gratitude for 

their support. Thanks to the interest taken by Maj. Gen. Frances C. Wilson, 

ICAF Commandant, this volume was produced through a co-imprint 

arrangement with the Industrial College. It is my hope that ICAF’s 

involvement with the production and promotion of this book will broaden 

the audience of the articles contained here.

Finally, I am obliged to thank those who helped to organize the 

Providing the Means of War symposium held at the campus of Science 

Applications International Corporation (SAIC) in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia. 

Tom Molino, James Reams, Randal Jones, James Hooper, Dr. Todd 
Clark, and many other SAIC employees were instrumental in making the 

symposium a success in the face of unexpected tragedy—the events of 11 

September 2001.

March 2005 SHANNON A. BROWN

acknowledgments 3

Introduction

Shannon A. Brown

In 1948, the Research Institute of America issued a publication entitled 

How Rearmament Affects Your Business.

1 Referring to the dramatic role 

science and technology assumed in the recently terminated world war, the 

report noted that “the day of a Buck Rogers type of war hasn’t arrived yet, 

but there has been a revolution in military science which will snowball 

the problems of industry.”2

 This “revolution,” heralded by such tools of 

warfare as the atomic bomb, long-range bombers, guided missiles, highspeed (jet) aircraft, and radar, had shaped the outcome of World War II, 

and in the years to come, it promised to change the nature of political 

relations between the United States and Soviet Union. The Research 

Institute publication pointed out that American industry would, as it had 

during World War II, bear much of the responsibility for ensuring that the 

military forces of the United States retained their technological edge over 

international competitors. Nonetheless, the postwar “problems of industry” 

were considerable; complicated federal contracting rules and restrictions, 

obstructionist policies governing the transfer of public money for basic 

scientific research, and confusing intellectual property laws, among other 

matters, combined to hamper the logical relationships that industry hoped to 

forge with the government in the years immediately following the Research 

Institute report.

As the Cold War grew more intense and the United States rearmed to 

meet the global threat of communism, these problems of industry were 

quietly addressed in what could be called a parallel revolution. In addition 

to the revolution in military science and technology that observers of the 

rearmament industry proclaimed in 1948, this parallel revolution changed 

the way that U.S. defense institutions did business. It linked contracting 

with national resource management in order to harness the scientific, 

technical, and industrial strength of the country. Through statutes and 

executive orders that facilitated this process, the government slowly 
6 Providing the Means of War

reshaped the methods traditionally used to build and buy weapons and 

other supplies for the armed services. These same laws encouraged and 

promoted new relationships between government, military, industry, and 

academic institutions, which, in turn, developed management techniques to 

facilitate the creation of technological wonders that had been mere fantasy 

only a generation earlier. With the direct support of the country’s civilian 

leadership (expressed in legislative resolutions and acts), acquiring the 

best, fastest, and most efficient forms of technology became an explicit 

goal of the military. By the early 1960s, the word acquisition came 

to describe the complicated processes associated with conceptualizing, 

developing, manufacturing, and deploying ever more sophisticated 

weapons. The purpose of this volume is to explore aspects of this parallel 

revolution, a revolution that, over time, yielded the mature acquisition 

processes that we know today and fostered the civil-military partnerships 

that provide the means of modern war. 

Prelude to Acquisition

Acquisition, as it is defined in the twenty-first century, comprises 

“the conceptualization, initiation, design, development, test, contracting, 

production, deployment, logistic support, modification, and disposal of 

weapons and other systems, supplies, or services (including construction) 

to satisfy Department of Defense (DoD) needs, intended for use in or in 

support of military missions.”3

 This definition has evolved over time, along 

with the laws and procedures that guide acquisition activities. Since the 

early 1960s, the word has meant many things to different people; some 

have used the term without understanding the scope of its meaning, while 

others have employed it as a kind of catchall to describe complicated 

contracting and management. Acquisition—both the term and the practice it 

denotes—has also evolved as our understanding of technological innovation 

has changed and the processes of invention and improvement have become 

institutionalized.

The seeds of modern-day acquisition were sown in the 1920s, with 

the passage of the Air Corps Act of 1926. In addition to establishing 

formally the air arm of the U.S. Army as a separate corps (thereby giving 

it permanence within the institution), this law institutionalized one of 

the hallmarks of modern acquisition: negotiated contracting. There 

were limits to this power; under the law, the War and Navy secretaries 

were permitted to engage in price negotiations with parts suppliers and 

airframe manufacturers, although the language of the act favored the use 

of traditional sealed-bid proposals for this kind of procurement. For the 
introduction 7

purchase of experimental aircraft, however, either service secretary could 

purchase “at his discretion . . . with or without competition, by contract, 

or otherwise, such designs, aircraft parts, or aeronautical accessories as 

may be necessary in his judgment for experimental purposes.” The law 

continued that these purchases, once evaluated, could be procured in 

quantity after negotiation with the manufacturer.4

 Thus the act gave the new 

Air Corps a measure of autonomy within the Army to perform research and 

development work (another important aspect of contemporary acquisition) 

and to make arrangements to purchase equipment that was favorably 

evaluated.

The right of the military to engage in negotiated contracting was 

strengthened shortly after President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared a 

national emergency on 8 September 1939.5

 Congress responded in June 

1940 by passing a national defense measure that broadened the procurement 

powers of the secretary of the Navy. Interestingly, this act also used the 

word “acquisition” in connection with procurement, perhaps for the first 

time in the official record of the subject. Under the terms of the Navy 

Reorganization Act, Congress authorized the secretary of the Navy to 

“negotiate contracts for the acquisition, construction, repair, or alteration of 

complete naval vessels of aircraft, or any portion thereof . . . with or without 

competitive bidding.” Although, in this context, the word acquisition did 

not carry the meaning ascribed to it two decades later (no connection 

to research and development was made, nor were there any allusions to 

management relationships between the Navy and industry), the appearance 

here of the term is significant because it implied the use of negotiation 

to obtain materiel or “plans, spare parts, and equipment,” rather than its 

traditional legal usage, namely the appropriation of private resources for 

government use.6

 Another congressional measure, the Army Appropriation 

Act of 1941, granted the secretary of War the authority to obligate certain 

funds without advertising. Although not as sweeping as the Navy’s contract 

negotiation powers, this prewar enactment set a precedent for the military to 

make expedited procurement decisions.7

After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Congress and the president 

took additional steps to enhance the procurement abilities of the armed 

forces. The First War Powers Act of 1941, signed into law on 18 December, 

authorized the president to empower federal agencies to “enter into contracts 

without regard to existing provisions of law, wherever such action was 

deemed to facilitate the prosecution of the war.”8

 This act was supplemented 

by Executive Order 9001, which implemented the act and authorized the 

service secretaries to begin immediately signing negotiated war-prosecution 

contracts. Another landmark contracting decision was made in early March 
8 Providing the Means of War

1942, when the War Production Board prohibited all contracting by formal 

advertising (except in rare cases).9

 For most of the war, military procurement 

was negotiated according to the terms of Title II of the War Powers Act, 

which was subsequently amended and expanded by the Second War Powers 

Act, signed into law in 1942.10

Because of these and other measures, military research, development, 

and procurement activities authorized by Congress and the president during 

World War II departed significantly from established practice and created 

important new legal precedents. The War Powers Acts empowered the 

Army and Navy to expedite source-selection decisions by disregarding 

cumbersome contracting laws, many of which had been in place for 

over a century. Another important feature of wartime legislation was the 

power given to the services to alter the terms of contracts already in place, 

ostensibly to reduce the excessive profits of contractors, but also to allow 

the service to redefine commercial arrangements without financial or 

legal penalties.11 The armed forces also obtained the power to hold design 

competitions for aircraft, and, if “unable, through voluntary negotiation to 

contract with or purchase from the winner of the competition,” the Army 

or Navy could “retain the designs in question.”12 These designs could then 

be put into full-scale development and production; according to the statute, 

the designer was entitled to seek financial redress from the government four 

years after production of the aircraft in question had begun.

Taken together, these wartime expedients provided the armed forces 

with a set of powerful tools that could be used to create new weapons by 

harnessing American industry. When the war ended and the War Powers 

Acts expired, representatives of the government and civilian industry 

lobbied for a continuation of the special relationships that had been forged 

during the conflict; these relationships had, after all, produced some of the 

most important weapons of the war. The defense establishment did not 

forget the resource management lessons it learned during the war, nor did 

it disregard the problems faced by a rapidly mobilizing American economy 

in the opening days of the conflict. In the years that followed the Japanese 

surrender, Congress and the president, at the behest of the armed forces 

and representatives of industry, drafted new laws to improve military 

procurement and encourage further cooperation between private industry 

and the government, with the understanding that such collaboration would 

strengthen the armed forces and yield even more impressive and powerful 

weapons.

Between 1947 and 1950, four new laws were passed to sustain 

collaboration between the military and industry, and many of the practices 

that evolved from these laws became the foundation of contemporary 
introduction 9

defense acquisition. The first and most significant of these, the Armed 

Services Procurement Act (ASPA) of 1947, was a consolidation of the 

diverse service-specific rules and regulations that had governed military 

procurement since the Civil War. The ASPA also established the legal 

groundwork for postwar research and development contracting (a kind of 

purchase that existed in a gray area, from a legal point of view, because 

research activities did not always yield a “product”). Drafted with the 

assistance of the armed forces and input from civilian industry, the ASPA 

became the basic law for all military contracting until 1956, when the 

act was codified as Chapter 137 of Title X. The ASPA was implemented 

through the Armed Services Procurement Regulation (ASPR), first issued 

in May 1948. The ASPR encouraged standardized purchasing and the 

use of common items and supplies across the military services. In theory, 

most government contracting under the ASPR was to be of the advertised 

sealed-bid variety; however, the ASPR included seventeen exceptions 

to the sealed-bid rule. Thus, under specific circumstances, for example, 

when the president declared a national emergency, the armed forces could 

engage in negotiated contracting.13 These exceptions became the subject 

of much congressional debate in the years to come, as it became clear that 

the services were favoring negotiated contracting over traditional source 

selection, in spite of the intent of the ASPA and ASPR.

14

Three additional statutes augmented the powers of the military in 

military industrial relations. The Selective Service Act of 1948 authorized 

the president—or any agency head acting on his behalf—to issue mandatory 

production orders to American factories.15 This act, as well as the recently 

issued ASPR, led the Research Institute to publish analyses and guidance on 

postwar industrial economics. (The Research Institute saw the codification 

of the ASPA/ASPR as a potential boon to industry, especially given the 

services’ “wider latitude in making deals through negotiation,” while the 

Selective Service Act seemed more like an ever-present thumb, poised to 

leverage the scales of U.S. manufacturing.16) Two other acts were written 

to strengthen the hand of the government in planning for “M–Day,” the 

emergency mobilization of the country. The first, the Renegotiation Act of 

1948, extended the wartime power of the military in redefining the terms 

of contracts. The other, the Defense Production Act of 1950, gave new 

resource allocation and factory oversight powers to the government.17

Although M–Day never arrived, these laws facilitated linkages between 

civilian industry, the country’s academic research institutions, and the 

armed forces. Sustained by perceived Cold War threats, and encouraged 

by burgeoning defense spending, these linkages, in turn, formed the basis 

of modern defense acquisition—the management of industrial capabilities, 
10 Providing the Means of War

human capital, financial resources, and science and technology to provide 

the means of modern war. 

Providing the Means of War

The term acquisition began to come into more common usage in the early 

1960s, when the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) and the military 

services began applying new management and analysis techniques to create 

the weapon systems of the future. This emphasis on systems—rather than 

hardware or technology—bespeaks the significance and innovative nature 

of the new approaches that were being used to design military equipment. 

No longer were aircraft designed around an airframe, an engine, or a handful 

of operating parameters, for example, service ceiling, range, or payload. 

Instead, engineers and designers were making an effort to address mission 

requirements and performance expectations (applications) by matching the 

airframe, engines, weapons, and avionics to produce a true “system.” This 

design approach—first implemented in a complete weapon system by the Air 

Force and the aircraft manufacturer Convair in the early 1950s—focused on 

the seamless and efficient integration of both new and existing technologies 

so that the finished product was greater than the sum of its component 

parts. This kind of technology development was accomplished through the 

use of systems engineering, systems analysis, and system dynamics, three 

manifestations of the “systems approach.”18

The systems approach began to mature during the years that followed 

World War II, a period that saw two monumental military engineering 

successes: the Atlas Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) and the 

Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine (Polaris). Headed by General Bernard 

A. Schriever and Admiral William F. Raborn, who supervised legions of 

military engineers and civilian consultants, these programs broke new 

ground for the defense establishment, providing vivid examples of the 

usefulness of compartmentalized management and structured program 

planning that emphasized the quick deployment of new hardware. The 

urgency of the early Cold War drove many of these programs, and the 

process of developing components for these military systems often 

required OSD and the services to depart from established procurement and 

contracting practices. New laws and regulations were written to support 

these deviations and facilitate defense-related scientific and technological 

innovations.

Historian Thomas Parke Hughes, a leading authority on the history 

of large technical systems and networks, has made several observations 

about the systems approach that explain how acquisition became part of the 
introduction 11

DoD vocabulary and why acquisition differs from earlier procurement and 

contracting practices. Hughes notes that the improved analytical capabilities 

that were offered by computers did much to promote the use of the systems 

approach. Moreover, computerization lent a “mystique” to those planners 

and officials who applied the systems approach to problem solving. The 

systems approach was propagated by experts who claimed to have special 

knowledge and authority derived from their abilities to combine high 

technology with analytical methods that could be employed to manage 

large projects. Hughes (among others) writes that the technological, social, 

and cultural implications of the systems approach make it as important an 

influence on human activities in the twentieth century as the industrial labor 

management regime associated with Frederick W. Taylor.19

For our purposes, all of these points relate directly to the nascence 

of acquisition. Like the systems approach, defense acquisition evolved 

from traditional military procurement as experts, wielding an authority 

derived from new management techniques, worked to shape the military 

technologies of the future. The power of these experts was augmented by 

new laws and regulations designed to support and promote scientific and 

technical advances in the name of postwar national defense. Acquisition—

rather than procurement—was the term that an emerging generation of 

defense professionals gradually adopted to refer to the process of building 

and buying weapons with the aid of management and analysis techniques 

in the evolving legal and regulatory framework that permitted close 

relationships between the military and private industry. This framework 

was part of the ongoing contracting revolution that underpinned the larger 

“revolution in military science” hailed by the Research Institute in 1948. 

From the beginning, Congress, the services, and the secretary of 

Defense all claimed a role in these dual revolutions. Who should decide 

which weapons to develop? Weapons development programs such as 

Polaris could grow enormous in scope, so how could the myriad activities 

that would lead to the development, production, and fielding of a new 

weapon best be integrated? What laws and executive orders would facilitate 

the best use of the technical and industrial power of the United States? 

Who should make the resource-allocation decisions necessary to support 

the creation of technologically advanced weapons? These questions have 

shaped the evolution of defense acquisition, and variations of the same 

questions are being asked today.

Defense acquisition exerts an influence on the lives of hundreds of 

thousands of Americans, from the defense plant employee to the foreign 

policy analyst to the soldier deployed to Southwest Asia. The pages that 

follow examine the history of this multifaceted enterprise. Only if we first 
12 Providing the Means of War

apprehend its past can we hope to understand the present and future of 

defense acquisition.

Organization of This Volume

Providing the Means of War is an anthology of essays on the history of 

defense acquisition. Very little formal scholarship has addressed defense 

acquisition history, even though acquisition has been subjected to some of 

the most intense scrutiny of any government function. Existing historical 

works that address defense economics or the so-called military industrial 

complex largely acknowledge the importance of acquisition activities (such 

as contracting), and often attend to aspects of the evolving acquisition 

process. Still, there is a dearth of detailed work on the capabilities and 

tasks of personnel responsible for conducting and overseeing the defense 

acquisition process, including government institutions, commercial entities, 

and the laws and conventions that govern their relationships. As the first 

“product” of the Defense Acquisition History Project, this volume is 

intended to increase the existing base of historical knowledge about defense 

acquisition matters and stimulate interest in this rich history by providing 

readers with a selection of historical interpretations of how our government 

has built and bought weapons since the middle of the twentieth century. 

Like the symposium that preceded it, this volume takes a very wide view 

of the subject and includes works that address a range of acquisition-related 

issues. 

This collection of articles is organized chronologically. The five periods 

identified in the Table of Contents correspond to the five volumes that 

eventually will comprise the Defense Acquisition History series, which 

will be published by the U.S. Army Center of Military History. The first 

spans the waning years of World War II through 1958, a year marked by 

the passage of the Defense Reorganization Act. The second period covers 

1959–1968. The third begins with the inauguration of Richard M. Nixon 

in January 1969 and ends with the election of Ronald Reagan in November 

1980. The fourth looks at defense acquisition from 1980 through the end of 

the Cold War in 1989–1990, and the fifth period, the post-Cold War years, 

includes acquisition to the present day. Each of the chronological sections in 

this anthology begins with a survey article that identifies important events, 

trends, and personalities in defense acquisition at the time. 

The more topical contributions that follow look at such matters 

as the interaction between professional military and civilian scientific 

communities, as in Gary Weir’s article, “SOSUS, the Navy, and Bell Labs,” 

while others explore the interplay of technical problems and antagonistic 
introduction 13

service cultures that led to the eventual failure of some of the earliest 

unmanned aerial vehicle systems, as Tom Ehrhard writes in “Seeds of 

a Revolution: Maritime UAVs in the 1960s.” Cultural influences are 

also the focus of W. Blair Haworth’s “Moving Target: The U.S. Army 

Infantry Fighting Vehicle Program in the 1970s,” while Timothy L. Francis 

discusses the political and economic influences on the FFG–7 Oliver 

Hazard Perry-class frigate program. Other essays featured in this volume 

address matters of acquisition reform, including Donald Baucom’s “The 

Strategic Defense Initiative and Acquisition Reform: The Case of Brilliant 

Pebbles,” and James H. Edgar’s discussion of the Defense Acquisition 

Workforce Improvement Act. More recent management issues, such as 

research and development difficulties and program cycle-time reduction 

efforts, are discussed in articles by Mark Montroll and Ross McNutt, both 

of whom write about the challenges of post-Cold War acquisition. 

This anthology collects conference proceedings, and, to provide the 

reader with a relatively complete picture of the Providing the Means of War

symposium, also includes contributions by key participants who did not 

present formal papers during the three-day event. The insightful opening 

remarks of Professor J. Ronald Fox of the Harvard Business School set 

the tone for the conference; as such, his comments appear here in order 

to frame the history papers that follow. Professor Fox is a recognized 

authority on defense acquisition issues, versed in the complex history of 

acquisition and sensitive to the need for a detailed institutional history of 

the subject. Indeed, he opens by noting that many of the “painful periods” 

faced by the acquisition community “have occurred . . . because of the 

absence of a comprehensive history of defense acquisition, or even a record 

of lessons learned.”20 Similarly, Professor B. F. Cooling of the Industrial 

College of the Armed Forces, the author of the closing remarks, draws on 

his own experiences as a professional government historian to evaluate 

the importance of acquisition history for the current generation of defense 

professionals. 

A highlight of the Providing the Means of War symposium was the 

acquisition round table discussion. An edited transcript of that session 

follows the five chronological sections, and it stands out for two reasons. 

First of all, the transcript captures the perspectives of three key defense 

executives who served in diverse positions during different presidential 

administrations; as such, each faced different problems, and they drew 

different lessons from their experiences. Additionally, the round table 

transcript is a historical document that captures reactions to a watershed 

event in American history, namely the terror attack of 11 September 2001, 

which happened to be the second day of the symposium. 
14 Providing the Means of War

As Professor Cooling notes in his closing remarks, there is a great deal 

more to the story of how we build and buy weapons than budgets, memos, 

and regulations. There are human dramas to be found in every acquisition 

program; the familiar literary conventions of failure, comedy, tragedy, and 

triumph are certainly applicable to the acquisition endeavor. It is the hope 

of the Defense Acquisition History Project staff that this volume will inspire 

additional research on both the weapons acquisition process and the people 

who conduct and oversee it. 
introduction 15

Notes

1

 The Research Institute of America (RIA) was founded in 1936 by 

Carl Hovgard and Leo Cherne. The company, originally established to 

provide advice to businessmen on compliance with Social Security policy, 

was one of the first firms in the United States to sell economic and tax 

analysis reports to private industry. Over time, the scope of RIA’s body of 

publications expanded to include legal and industrial affairs advisories and 

political analyses, including discussions of the defense industry and reports 

on the spreading influence of communism. 2 Research Institute of America, Inc., How Rearmament Affects Your 

Business, Analysis 60a (New York: Research Institute of America, Inc., 

1948), 1.

3

 Defense Acquisition University, DAU Glossary: Defense Acquisition 

Acronyms and Terms, 11th Edition (Fort Belvoir, Va.: DAU Press, 2003), 

B–1; http://www.dau.mil/pubs/glossary/11thglossary2003.pdf. 4 Air Corps Act of 1926, PL 69–446, U.S. Statutes at Large 44 (1927): 

784, §10 (1c); also refer to Edwin P. Bledsoe and Harry I. Ravitz, “The 

Evolution of Research and Development as a Procurement Function of the 

Federal Government,” in Albert C. Lazure and Andew P. Murphy, eds., 

Research and Development Procurement Law (Washington, D.C.: The 

Federal Bar Association, 1957), 204. 5

 President Franklin D. Roosevelt, “Proclaiming a National Emergency 

in Connection with the Observance, Safeguarding, and Enforcement 

of Neutrality and the Strengthening of the National Defense Within the 

Limits of Peacetime Authorizations, Proclamation 2352,” Federal Register

(September 1939).

6 Navy Reorganization Act of 1940, PL 76–671, U.S. Statutes at Large

54 (1941): 440, §2. 7

 See Army Appropriation Act of 1941, PL 77–139, U.S. Statutes at 

Large 55 (1942): 366.

8 First War Powers Act of 1941, PL 77–354, U.S. Statutes at Large 55 

(1942): 838, §201; also refer to U.S. Department of Justice, The Acquisition 

of Property for War Purposes (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1943), 39.

9

 U.S. Senate, Hearings Before the Procurement Subcommittee of the 

Committee on Armed Services, 86th Cong., 2d sess., 8–9 February 1960, 52.

10 Second War Powers Act, PL 77-507, U.S. Statutes at Large 56 (1943): 

176; see also U.S. Department of Justice, The Acquisition of Property for 

War Purposes (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1943), 39. 11 U.S. Department of Justice, The Acquisition of Property for War 

Purposes (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1943), 39.
16 Providing the Means of War

12 U.S. Department of Justice, The Acquisition of Property for War 

Purposes (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1943), 57.

13 Military agencies were authorized to use negotiated contracting “1) 

where it’s decided that the step is necessary in the public interest during 

a national emergency declared by the president or Congress; 2) when, in 

an emergency, there’s no time for advertising; 3) where the total amount 

involved isn’t more than $1,000; 4) where the goods and services are to 

be produced and used outside the limits of the U.S. and its possessions; 5) 

where medicine and medical supplies are involved; 6) where the materials 

are purchased for authorized resale; 7) where the goods are perishable 

subsistence items; 8) where the nature of the goods makes competition 

impractical; 9) where the purchase is for experimental, developmental 

or research work; 10) where the nature of the goods must remain secret 

for security reasons; 11) where considerations of standardization or 

interchangeability of parts of technical equipment make competitive 

bidding impossible; 12) where the goods are of a special or technical 

type requiring a big initial investment or a long period of manufacture, 

and competitive bidding would only result in duplication or undue delay; 

13) where the agency heads decide that the prices offered in competitive 

bidding are unreasonable because they weren’t independently arrived at in 

open competition; and 14) where it’s necessary in the interest of national 

defense to keep a plant, mine or facility running, and the only way to do it 

is through a negotiated contract.” These broad exceptions were exercised 

regularly by all of the armed services. See Research Institute of America, 

Inc., How Rearmament Affects Your Business, 11. 14 See U.S. House of Representatives, Report to Honorable Carl 

Vinson, Chairman, House Committee on Armed Services from Chairman, 

Subcommittee for Special Investigations on Use of Section 2(c) (1) Through 

(17), Armed Services Procurement Act, 1947, 84th Cong., 1st sess., 14 

December 1955. This report notes that, between 30 January 1953 and 30 

June 1955, 94.19 percent of all reported military contracts were negotiated; 

only 5.81 percent were the result of sealed bidding. 

15 James F. Nagle, A History of Government Contracting (Washington, 

D.C.: The George Washington University, 1992), 467.

16 Research Institute of America, Inc., How Rearmament Affects Your 

Business, 2–9, 11.

17 Nagle, A History of Government Contracting, 467.

18 Thomas Parke Hughes defines systems engineering as the 

“management of the design and development of technological systems;” 

systems analysis is described as “the comparison of systems” to evaluate 

“alternative solutions to problems, such as the use of long-range bombers 
introduction 17

versus intercontinental ballistic missiles;” and system dynamics is the use 

of modeling for use in policy making, used for “predicting and comparing 

the downstream consequences of outcomes of alternative policies.” See 

Agatha C. Hughes and Thomas P. Hughes, eds., Systems, Experts, and 

Computers: The Systems Approach in Management and Engineering, World 

War II and After (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2000), 1.

19 Ibid., 6–11, 24.

20 Some of these “painful periods” are addressed in J. Ronald Fox with 

James L. Field, The Defense Management Challenge: Weapons Acquisition 

(Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 1988).

Defense Acquisition History

Symposium Keynote Address

10 September 2001

J. Ronald Fox 

Good morning. I am pleased to be with you at the beginning of this 

symposium. When Dr. Elliott Converse invited me to speak at this session, 

I asked him what he would like me to cover. He suggested that I share with 

you some of my experiences and thoughts on acquisition lessons learned.

It’s clear to me that this history project fills a long-standing need. 

Defense acquisition has evolved over several decades, slowly improving, 

but not without moving through painful periods of re-creating and 

re-experiencing acquisition management problems of the past. I believe 

that the painful periods have occurred to a significant degree because of the 

absence of a comprehensive history of defense acquisition or even a record 

of lessons learned. 

I want first to acknowledge that there is much that is right with defense 

acquisition. As most of you know, the Defense Department develops and 

produces the most sought-after weapons and equipment in the world. These 

products are often designed to achieve performance levels never before 

realized, with many components and some materials never before used in 

military or commercial applications. 

Beyond those significant acquisition accomplishments, the Defense 

Department has also had notable successes in systems engineering, 

logistics, contracting, and many other areas. But the complexity and firstof-a-kind nature of major acquisition programs places them among the most 

difficult industrial management jobs in the world. Problems are inherent in 

the nature of this work.

Everyone who has worked in defense acquisition knows that managers 

do not spend a lot of time congratulating themselves on their successes. 

That is not their job. They spend their time identifying problems, trying to 
20 Providing the Means of War

solve problems, and searching for ways to prevent problems from occurring 

in the future. 

Every secretary of Defense during the past fifty years has made a 

commitment to improve the management of defense acquisition. Indeed, 

each secretary has taken specific steps to identify problems and to initiate 

improvements. 

These management improvements have been undertaken by a number 

of very capable people in OSD (the Office of the Secretary of Defense) and 

in the military services. But all too often, their efforts have experienced 

serious shortfalls in implementation. By creating a shared understanding of 

these experiences, the Defense Acquisition History Project can enable the 

future efforts of others to benefit from the strengths and weaknesses of the 

past. The rich history of defense acquisition must be captured so that it can 

be put to constructive use. 

In explaining the reasons for the shortfalls that occur in implementation 

and why the Defense Department has had to re-experience problems of the 

past, I would like to review with you this morning four enduring but often 

counterproductive practices that I have observed during the past several 

decades—practices that have played important roles in shaping the course 

of defense acquisition but that need not play the same roles in the future. 

Authority and Responsibilities 

of Government Program Managers 

The first practice pertains to the mismatch between government 

program management responsibilities and authority. As most of you know, 

the program manager is the key person responsible for an acquisition 

program. But the limited authority given to program managers usually falls 

far short of their responsibilities. 

You will often hear that a government program manager is responsible 

for the schedule, cost, and technical performance of an acquisition 

program. As you know, however, the vast majority of the work required 

to develop and produce acquisition programs is actually performed 

in contractor plants. But it is the government contracting officer, not 

the program manager, who has the authority and the responsibility to 

provide directions to contractors. And the contracting officer does not 

normally report to the program manager or even to the program manager’s 

immediate boss. In a number of programs that has not been a problem. But 

in other programs where contractors have had difficulties meeting contract 

requirements, for example, the Navy A–12 aircraft program, it can be a 

serious problem.
keynote address 21

There are many government personnel who at times provide advice, 

suggestions and even direction to contractors, whether they are authorized 

to do so or not. They can be from the requirements office, or from any of 

several functional support organizations in the Army, Navy, or Air Force 

systems commands, for example, engineering or test personnel. Or they can 

be from the military service headquarters or from OSD. 

None of these personnel are authorized to change the scope of a 

contractor’s work, but they may consciously or unconsciously provide 

direction to the contractor through their frequent discussions with contractor 

personnel. Unfortunately, this advice, suggestions and direction from 

other than the program manager and the contracting officer has often been 

unplanned and contrary to what the program manager really wants the 

contractor to do. And it has caused unanticipated increases in the work to be 

performed, producing delays in schedules, and increases in costs. 

Further confusing a program manager’s authority is the fact that the 

government plant representative, who resides in the contractor’s plant, 

approves or disapproves a contractor’s progress payments and determines 

the allowability of contractor costs. But the government plant representative 

and the government auditor do not report to the program manager or to the 

program manager’s immediate boss. Indeed, they report through entirely 

different chains of command than does the program manager. 

Yet another constraint on a program manager’s authority comes from 

the Congress, the DoD comptroller, and the military service comptroller 

who authorize and limit the funds to be spent on a program in at least 

three separate categories: research and development, procurement, and 

operations and maintenance. Throughout the life of an acquisition program, 

organizations above the level of the program manager often reduce the funds 

allowed to be spent in one or more of these three categories, resulting in 

changes in schedules and quantities, and increasing unit costs. The funding 

process should not be, as it is today, one that encourages program managers to 

hide contingency funds as a means of coping with that turbulence. 

In sum, the authority given to program managers needs to be more 

consistent with the challenges, problems, and responsibilities that program 

managers are expected to handle effectively. 

Training the Defense Acquisition Workforce 

The second practice that has shaped acquisition pertains to the training 

of the acquisition workforce—a key part of defense acquisition history. 

During the thirty-year period from 1970 through 2000, major increases have 

occurred in the complexity of defense acquisition programs, including a 
22 Providing the Means of War

massive growth in the use of software. Nonetheless, throughout this period 

it has been difficult to convince senior military and civilian officials in the 

Army, Navy, Air Force, and OSD that the skills needed to manage large, 

first-of-a-kind acquisition programs are as difficult or more difficult to 

acquire and implement as learning how to fly fighter aircraft or operate 

surface ships, submarines, or tanks. 

To reach high levels of proficiency in complex military operations 

requires many months, often years, of formal training along with years of 

back-to-back dedicated assignments in positions of increasing responsibility. 

The same is true in the field of acquisition. Acquiring the knowledge and 

skills needed to manage complex development and production programs 

requires an in-depth training program comparable to that currently employed 

in developing skills to perform complex military operations. 

Yet for more than thirty years, a myth has persisted in the Defense 

Department that government managers of large acquisition programs can 

acquire the needed knowledge and skills to perform effectively as program 

managers with no more than fourteen to twenty weeks of in-residence 

training. That assumption seriously underestimates the complexity of 

the technical and financial analyses required, and the importance of the 

frequent informal negotiations that are conducted every week within 

government and between government and industry. These analyses and 

negotiations are an important part of the job performed by program 

managers and deputy program managers. 

Thirty years ago, in 1970, the original Department of Defense course 

to train government program managers was proposed by the Army to be 

one year in duration, somewhat shorter than the time required for initial 

flight training or legal training. But a training program of that duration was 

rejected by OSD as too long because it exceeded the TDY limits and would 

require a permanent change of station, as is the case with flight training. So, 

the first DoD program management course was limited to twenty weeks, the 

maximum period allowed for TDY.

In 1995, during a period of DoD reductions-in-force, the twenty-week 

course was reduced to fourteen weeks in-residence in order to further limit 

the time required for students to be away from their jobs. The course was 

never returned to the former twenty-week duration. Indeed, as I speak, 

there is further pressure from advocates of distance learning to reduce the 

time for in-residence training to possibly eight weeks. In my view, distance 

learning is unquestionably a reasonable and effective method of transferring 

information to students. But it is no substitute for the face-to-face 

interactions involved in developing and practicing the difficult analyses and 

decision-making skills required in day-to-day program management. 
keynote address 23

I am pleased to report that as of this year, a small group of outstanding 

faculty headed by Steve Israel, John Horn, and Ed Hirsch at the Defense 

Systems Management College (DSMC), under the capable leadership of 

Defense Acquisition University and DSMC, is currently developing a casebased program manager’s course, albeit no longer than ten weeks. The 

course deals explicitly with the commonplace challenges and problems that 

occur in major acquisition programs. If this effort is successful, it could 

begin to fill a long-standing need in DoD acquisition training. 

Introduction of New Acquisition Management Techniques 

The third persistent practice that has shaped the course of defense 

acquisition pertains to the ways in which new management techniques 

are usually introduced. Periodically, new techniques are adopted by OSD 

or by the military services to improve acquisition management. Despite 

the competent and dedicated work of those who introduce these new 

techniques, the intended results often turn out to be far more difficult to 

achieve than originally anticipated. This is because the incentives that 

support the status quo must be changed or removed in order to successfully 

implement these new techniques, and institutional inertia is difficult to 

overcome. This problem has occurred, for example, with the initiatives 

called “Cost as an Independent Variable,” “Best Value Contracting,” and 

“Reducing Government Oversight.” 

A review of past practices will show that when new management 

techniques are introduced, it is important to ensure that individuals are 

rewarded for implementing and using the desired management techniques. 

And the incentives should resolve the long-standing conflicting roles of 

manager and marketer, counteracting incentives to underestimate and 

oversell.

Acquisition Lessons Learned 

The fourth and last practice I will describe pertains to the absence of 

an inventory of lessons learned in acquisition management gathered from 

the past four decades. By contrast, most successful defense contractors 

have long followed the practice of collecting, retaining, and reviewing 

their lessons learned in the management of acquisition programs. When 

companies fail to do so, they soon encounter major financial and marketing 

problems. 

A good example of the Defense Department’s short memory for lessons 

learned can be seen in the massive cost growth and technical performance 
24 Providing the Means of War

shortfalls on large acquisition programs in the 1960s and early 1970s that 

employed fixed-price-type contracts for development with production 

options. They were called Total Package Procurements. When costly 

problems emerged from these programs in all military services, Deputy 

Secretary of Defense David Packard issued a directive prohibiting the use 

of fixed-price-type contracts on large engineering development programs. 

About twelve years later, however, in the early 1980s, Packard’s 

directive was superceded when the secretary of the Navy once again 

adopted fixed-price-type development contracts as the standard method 

of contracting for large engineering development programs for aircraft, 

missiles, and equipment. 

The employment of this practice in the 1980s again resulted in large 

financial losses for the Defense Department and for its contractors. More 

significantly, the use of fixed-price contracting resulted in serious delays 

in obtaining weapons and equipment that the military services needed. 

After the problems associated with fixed-price contracts were rediscovered, 

the use of the concept in contracting for large engineering development 

programs again fell out of favor.

As I conclude my remarks, I want to return for a moment to the 

Defense Acquisition History Project. The history of defense acquisition 

is an important and interesting story, and it contains valuable lessons that 

need to be identified and recorded. The story pertains to the development 

and production of truly outstanding products, but many of these products 

have cost far more than was anticipated and have taken significantly longer 

to acquire than planned. In the process, we have placed some excellent 

military and civilian people in unnecessarily difficult positions. 

It is to the great credit of the Defense Department that it has the wisdom 

to assemble an impressive group of historians to record its acquisition 

history and, hopefully, its lessons learned as well. Acquisition managers, 

warfighters, taxpayers, and the nation will stand to benefit. 

I wish you great success.
Part I

Into the Cold War

Into the Cold War: An Overview of Acquisition in the 

Department of Defense, 1945–1958

Elliott V. Converse III

For those who take note of such things, the content of presidential 

inaugural and state of the union addresses in the twentieth century’s last 

decade is revealing. For the most part, they have had little to do with 

foreign or defense policies—for example, one page of eleven in Bill 

Clinton’s 1996 State of the Union; a few lines in George W. Bush’s 2001 

Inaugural.1

 Dwight Eisenhower’s 1958 State of the Union address stands 

in sharp contrast. Almost all of its fourteen pages covered the Cold War 

struggle with the Soviet Union. In his remarks the president, who that 

spring would ask Congress for authority to reorganize the Department of 

Defense (DoD), paid special attention to the process for acquiring advanced 

weapons. The Defense Department, said the president, must “plan for a 

better integration of its defensive resources, particularly with respect to 

the newer weapons now building and under development. These obviously 

require full coordination in their development, production and use.”2

By 1958, following the shock of the Soviet Sputniks the preceding fall 

and the well-publicized and long-running rivalry between the services over 

guided missiles, the United States’ methods of developing and producing 

new weapons appeared to be seriously deficient. Until this time, most critics 

of the Defense Department’s materiel activities concentrated on eliminating 

wasteful duplication and integrating the services’ separate supply systems. 

Neither of the two Hoover commissions (1949 and 1955), for instance, had 

much to say about the acquisition of major weapon systems.3

 The purpose 

of this paper is to describe the principal features of defense acquisition 

from the end of World War II to the Defense Reorganization Act of 1958. 

The emphasis will be on the acquisition of the major weapon systems 

that accounted for most defense research and development (R&D) and 

procurement dollars in those years. An understanding of the essential 
28 Providing the Means of War

characteristics of acquisition in DoD as it had evolved by the end of the 

1950s should throw light on subsequent efforts to better control and guide 

that process.

But before beginning, I should say a little about the words that have 

been used over the years to describe the activities involved in providing the 

U.S. armed forces with the means of war. Since the 1980s, those activities 

have been referred to as “acquisition.” The word, as defined in the Defense 

Acquisition University’s Glossary of Defense Acquisition Acronyms and 

Terms, means “The conceptualization, initiation, design, development, 

test, contracting, production, deployment, logistic support, modification, 

and disposal of weapons and other systems, supplies, or services to satisfy 

DoD needs, intended for use in or in support of military missions.”4

 This 

is a very broad definition and purposefully so. It recognizes acquisition as 

a process, essentially corresponding to a system’s life cycle, with logistic 

support as an integral part of that process—indeed over a system’s entire 

life, the most expensive part. In the 1950s, however, no one used the word 

“acquisition” to describe any, let alone all, of these activities. In the context 

of materiel support, the word began to appear only in the 1960s, perhaps first 

but certainly most prominently in Harvard’s Weapons Acquisition Project 

which began in 1960 and resulted in several studies, including Merton Peck 

and Frederic Scherer’s 1962 classic, The Weapons Acquisition Process: An 

Economic Analysis.

5

 In 1969, “acquisition” achieved institutional legitimacy 

as part of the title of the Defense Department’s DSARC—Defense Systems 

Acquisition Review Council.6 Even so, quite a few more years passed 

before its use became universal. Prior to the 1960s, the umbrella term that 

sometimes denoted the totality of materiel support activities was “logistics.”7

But that word, even in its broadest sense, lacked the idea of integrated process 

normally associated with the word “acquisition” as it is used today. Indeed, 

the concept of a weapon as a “system” to be managed from beginning to 

end had only just emerged and was beginning to evolve in the 1950s. Most 

often during these early years, two terms embraced the sequence by which 

new weapons were added to the inventory: “research and development” and 

“procurement” (meaning purchase and production).

From 1945 to 1958 (and arguably to the present), nothing influenced 

acquisition policy, organization, or process more than the pursuit of 

advanced technology. World War II had produced remarkable weapons—

radar, proximity fuses, very long-range and jet aircraft, guided missiles, 

and the atomic bomb. American civilian and military leaders believed that 

the next war would begin with a sudden attack carried out with the most 

advanced and destructive of weapons of this kind. There would be little time 

to prepare and the oceans would no longer be effective barriers. The nation 
Into the cold war 29

would have to fight with the weapons it had on hand. Advanced technology, 

it appeared, would be the arbiter of future warfare, and maintaining 

superiority in this area would be essential to assure national security.8

By the 1950s, the quest for superior technology was central to an 

American security strategy grounded in nuclear weapons. Early in 1955, 

President Eisenhower told Charles E. Wilson, his first defense secretary, 

that “we should base our security upon military formations which make 

maximum use of science and technology in order to minimize numbers 

of men.”9

 In this respect, all of the services were on board. Even the 

Army, less technologically oriented than the Air Force or the Navy, sought 

sophisticated new weapons, particularly guided missiles.10 Maj. Gen. John 

P. Medaris, who headed the Army’s missile program in the 1950s, told 

officers from the Ordnance Corps: “If you put all your energy and effort 

into justifying . . . conventional weapons and ammunition . . . I think you 

are going to get very little money of any kind. It is far easier to justify a 

budget with the items that are popular.”11

Achieving and maintaining technological superiority required 

substantial increases in money for research and development. Following 

World War II, government spending on defense-related R&D greatly 

exceeded prewar amounts—in Fiscal Year (FY) 1947 thirty-eight times as 

much as in 1937; in FY 1948, twenty times what it had been in FY 1940.12

And funds for this purpose continued to rise in the postwar period—from 

nearly $750 million in FY 1949 to more than $5 billion in FY 1959. 

Moreover, R&D’s share of the defense budget climbed from about 2 

percent in FY 1949 to about 6 percent in FY 1959.13 These aggregate 

figures, however, mask some important points. Although spending on 

R&D was much greater between World War II and the Korean War than it 

had been before 1940, overall defense spending declined steeply between 

1945 and 1950, and many R&D projects had to be cut. For example, a 

reduction in such funding for FY 1947 caused the Air Force to reduce 

its guided missile development budget from $29 million to $13 million 

dollars, terminating ten of its twenty-eight missile projects.14 In the Army 

between World War II and Korea, new weapons, except for missiles, were 

“out of the question.”15 R&D spending, as a percentage of total defense 

outlays, generally leveled off between 2 percent and 3 percent in the 

1950s, doubling to almost 6 percent only after Sputnik.16 Nonetheless, such 

qualifications notwithstanding, research and development had assumed a 

measurably enhanced status in the American defense effort.

Increased spending was but one of countless impacts the drive for 

technological superiority had upon the nature of acquisition in DoD. The 

characteristics of the weapons themselves also had major effects. Guided 
30 Providing the Means of War

missiles, for example, were neither clearly airplanes nor artillery; they 

transcended the traditional land, sea, and air boundaries of the services and 

intensified the rivalry among them. Each service could find application 

for missiles in missions it had been assigned by previous agreements or in 

missions that it coveted. The development of an intermediate range ballistic 

missile (IRBM), notably the Thor-Jupiter contest between the Air Force and 

the Army in the 1950s, is perhaps the best illustration.17

The blurring of responsibilities resulting from the inherent 

technological characteristics of a weapon was not only an interservice but 

also an intraservice phenomenon. In the Navy, competition between the 

Bureau of Ordnance and the Bureau of Aeronautics in missile development 

programs had begun in World War II. In 1947, Rear Adm. Daniel V. 

Gallery, head of the division on the staff of the chief of naval operations 

(CNO) charged with coordinating the Navy’s missile effort, put it bluntly: 

“BuOrd and BuAer are very jealous of each other’s efforts. BuAer feels that 

BuOrd is muscling in on their field. . . .”18 Similarly, in the Army in 1950, 

the Ordnance Corps and the Transportation Corps each had a program to 

develop a replacement for the service’s World War II amphibious vehicle, 

the DUKW. Although producing the successor only involved development 

engineering and not new research, disputes between the two technical 

services caused the effort to drag out over a decade. Finally in 1960, the 

Army accepted the LARC, a smaller amphibian that had been developed 

under contract to the Transportation Corps.19

Another characteristic of post-World War II weapons dramatically 

affecting acquisition was their enormous complexity. The Air Force’s B–29 

and B–50 bombers each had about 10,000 electronic components; the 

B–47, about 20,000; the B–52, approximately 50,000; and the B–58, nearly 

100,000. As James Nagle, author of a history of government contracting, 

has noted, no one firm could produce this many components and they were 

forced to subcontract, previously a practice resorted to only reluctantly. 

Lockheed, for instance, subcontracted 18 percent of its business during 

World War II and 40 percent in 1951. One consequence of extensive 

subcontracting was to spread business around geographically to a large 

number of companies, thus increasing the overall political power of the 

defense industry.20

Weapon acquisition was also shaped by the belief that the United States 

was in a race for national survival. The Soviet explosion of an atomic 

bomb in 1949 and a hydrogen weapon in 1953, its development of longrange bombers and ICBMs, and, finally, the spectacular launch of the first 

Sputnik in October 1957 gave acquisition a sense of urgency not unlike 

that prevailing in World War II. Thus, the perceived need to stay ahead of 
Into the cold war 31

the Soviets caused Air Force planners routinely to project technologically 

ambitious performance requirements for bombers. These requirements 

were sometimes “far beyond the state of the art” and depended on as yet 

unforeseen technological advances. Until those advances were achieved, 

sometimes by accident, programs were delayed.21 To speed up system 

development by stimulating competition between contractors and to hedge 

against failure, some systems were developed in parallel. The similar Atlas 

and Titan ICBM systems followed this path. Convair won the contract 

to design, develop, and test the Atlas, and the Martin Company got the 

contract for the Titan.22 Another method adopted to develop, produce, and 

deploy a system as rapidly as possible came to be called “concurrency.” 

In this acquisition strategy, aspects of production and support overlapped 

phases of research and development, such as testing.

For President Eisenhower, the solution to the difficulties of integrating 

advanced weapons into the nation’s defense was straightforward. “Good 

organization,” he said in his 1958 State of the Union Address, “can help 

assure this coordination.”23 Following World War II, the services and, after 

1947, the secretary of Defense sought both to adapt old and to fashion new 

organizational structures to the process of acquiring major weapon systems. 

But as Eisenhower also knew, coming up with efficient organization was 

a “never-ending problem.”24 In the first Cold War decade, it proved to be 

especially stressful.

Soon after the national military establishment was created in 1947, 

it became apparent that if there were to be anything more than technical 

unification in the nation’s defense structure, the power and authority of 

the secretary of Defense in relation to the individual services would have 

to be strengthened. Many of the reforms initiated in 1949, 1953, and 1958 

were directed toward this end. Overall there was a gradual trend toward 

centralization and more control vested in the Office of the Secretary 

Defense (OSD), including greater authority over weapon acquisition. In this 

area, the changes meant more power for OSD to decide what weapons to 

acquire; to determine what resources to apply against weapon programs; to 

coordinate research, development, and production; and to set procurement 

policies in the Armed Services Procurement Regulation. Still, centralization 

proceeded slowly and the enhanced authority provided by the Defense 

Reorganization of Act of 1958 was not tapped until the early 1960s by 

Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara, leaving the services (sometimes 

abetted by the Congress) with considerable autonomy in acquisition at the 

end of this period.25

A short review of organizational changes affecting acquisition that 

occurred between 1947 and 1958 will show nevertheless that OSD’s 
32 Providing the Means of War

authority in this area grew steadily if slowly. The National Security 

Act of 1947 charged the secretary of defense to “(t)ake appropriate 

steps to eliminate unnecessary duplication or overlapping in the fields 

of procurement, supply, transportation, storage, health, and research.”26

The act also created a joint-service Research and Development Board 

and a joint-service Munitions Board, under the secretary’s direction, to 

coordinate acquisition in the national military establishment. The Research 

and Development Board, for example, was to “prepare a complete and 

integrated program of research and development. . . .”27 Despite some 

strengthening of the powers of their chairmen in 1949 and 1952 (and 

some accomplishments), the two boards proved largely ineffective 

for numerous reasons, including the failings inherent in a committee 

structure.28 Their principal weakness, however, was the inability of the 

service representatives on each board, whether military or civilian, to take 

a DoD-wide perspective when an issue conflicted with the interests of their 

particular service. They were, as the historian Doris Condit has described 

the members of the Munitions Board, “both claimants and judges for their 

own service requests. . . .”29

In 1953 President Eisenhower carried out a reorganization of the 

Defense Department that abolished the Research and Development Board 

and the Munitions Board and assigned their functions to four assistant 

secretaries reporting directly to the secretary. The responsibilities of the 

Research and Development Board were divided between an assistant 

secretary for research and development and one for applications 

engineering (in 1957 the two positions were merged into a single post—an 

assistant secretary for research and engineering).30 Although a further step 

toward centralization, one scholar has pointed out that these organizational 

changes “did little to enhance effective control of military research. . . .”31

The assistant secretary could advise the secretary and try to coordinate 

service programs but he could not alter or veto them.

In 1958, responding to the Sputniks and what those feats demonstrated 

about Soviet missile capabilities and seemed to imply about U.S. 

missile programs, then still embroiled in bitter interservice rivalry over 

intermediate range missiles, the Eisenhower administration sought changes 

in the Department of Defense’s organization for acquisition. The results 

significantly increased the secretary of Defense’s control over acquisition 

and further centralized its management in OSD.32 The Advanced Research 

Projects Agency (ARPA), established in February 1958, sponsored early 

research and development of systems, such as satellites and antimissiles, 

not yet assigned to a particular service. ARPA was the first time OSD 

became involved directly in implementing acquisition programs. Creation 
Into the cold war 33

of the agency was also a way, wrote Herbert York, its first chief scientist 

and within a year DoD’s first director of defense research and engineering, 

to accomplish research and development projects “without having to 

cope with service red tape.”33 When the office of the director of defense 

research and engineering, authorized by the Defense Reorganization Act 

of 1958, was established in February 1959, the secretary of defense’s 

authority over acquisition appeared clear cut. The director of defense 

research and engineering (DDR&E) had the power “to direct and control . 

. . research and engineering activities that the secretary of Defense deems 

to require centralized management.”34 In short, OSD could now approve, 

disapprove, or modify service acquisition programs. But neither Secretary 

of Defense Neil H. McElroy, nor his successor Thomas S. Gates, Jr., chose 

to exploit the powers made available by the 1958 changes; the services 

thus maintained most of their traditional autonomy. Some scholars have 

suggested that their reluctance stemmed not so much from absence of will 

but rather from lack of the right tools to wield the new authority. Only in 

1961, under a much more aggressive leader, armed with the techniques of 

systems analysis, would it become evident how extensive the secretary of 

Defense’s power in the acquisition arena could be.35

Since the end of World War II, the services had sought to adapt their 

traditional organizations or to create new structures to meet the challenges 

presented by increasingly sophisticated and rapidly changing technologies. 

One lesson of the war seemed to be that research and development came off 

second best in organizations oriented toward production and procurement.36

Vannevar Bush, who headed the wartime Office of Scientific Research and 

Development, testified to the House Military Affairs Committee soon after 

the war:

New developments are upsetting to procurement standards and procurement schedules. A procurement group is under the constant urge to regularize and standardize, 

particularly when funds are limited. Its primary function is to produce a sufficient 

supply of standard weapons for field use. Procurement units are judged, therefore, 

by production standards.

Research, however, is the exploration of the unknown. It is speculative. It cannot 

be standardized. It succeeds, moreover, in virtually direct proportion to its freedom 

from performance controls, production pressures, and traditional approaches.37

General Eisenhower believed the two functions should be 

organizationally separate and, while Army chief of staff in 1946, established 

a research and development directorate on the General Staff on the same 

level as the service, supply and procurement directorate. But “in-house” 

research and development in the Army actually took place in the arsenals 

and laboratories of the technical services—primarily the Ordnance Corps, 
34 Providing the Means of War

Signal Corps, and Chemical Corps. In these organizations production 

usually dominated and emphasis tended to be on making incremental 

improvements to existing weapons rather than on developing entirely new 

systems. This orientation was a key reason (although not the only reason) 

it took the Army a dozen years following World War II to come up with a 

replacement for the M–1 rifle. By the end of the 1950s, the Army, in spite of 

the urging of some of its top officers and its scientific advisors, had still not 

achieved much independence for R&D or moved very far in the direction 

of centralized R&D management. On the Army staff, the technical services 

reported to the production-oriented deputy chief of staff for logistics, not to 

the deputy chief of staff for research and development.38

The Office of Naval Research (established in 1946) and its laboratories 

gave the Navy an independent research organization. On the other hand, 

most research and development in the Navy was under the control of the 

materiel bureaus, principally Aeronautics, Ordnance, and Ships. The Navy’s 

peculiar bilinear structure gave the bureaus—each with its own budget and 

responsible to the secretary of the Navy up through the civilian-dominated 

business chain rather than through the military-controlled operational chain 

that went through the CNO—extraordinary independence (and not only 

from the CNO but also from each other). Moreover, within the materiel 

bureaus and in its laboratories and shipyards, R&D supported procurement. 

“The old-fashioned bureau system,” writes the historian Rodney Carlisle, 

“made R&D a part of the Navy’s procurement activity, an approach quite 

out of touch with the Big Science expectations of the postwar period. . . . 

[It] preserved the prewar view of science and engineering as an auxiliary to 

private sector purchasing, not as a modern integral system, the view which 

had begun to emerge as a consequence to World War II efforts.”39

In 1946, in the soon-to-be-independent Army Air Forces, one 

organization—the Air Materiel Command—had responsibility for 

R&D, procurement, and logistics. Here as in the other services new 

weapons development was secondary to the other materiel functions; most 

attention went to improving existing systems. But the Air Force, the most 

scientifically and technically inclined of the services and lacking longlived acquisition structures as well as much of an in-house R&D capability, 

moved fairly quickly after the war to separate R&D from procurement. In 

1950, it established the Air Research and Development Command, leaving 

other acquisition and logistics functions to the Air Materiel Command. The 

separation created friction between the two commands at the sometimes 

indistinct juncture between development and production. Ironically, after 

breaking apart its organizationally unified materiel support, the Air Force 

began a four-decade-long process of putting it all back together again in 
Into the cold war 35

keeping with the larger trend of viewing acquisition as an integral process 

that ranged over a system’s entire life cycle.40

Such a perspective, however, was just beginning to emerge in the 1950s. 

Its roots lay in the concept of a weapon as a system and the recognition 

that developing the complex weapons of the time would require new 

organizational structures and doctrine. A weapon system comprised all 

that was required for a weapon to perform its task: the weapon itself, the 

delivery vehicle, its operators (including their training), and all associated 

support facilities and services. Developing it meant cutting across established 

organizational boundaries. To achieve the necessary coordination and to 

manage system development, the services established entirely new 

organizational structures (initially called weapon system project offices in the 

Air Force and special project offices in the Navy). The project offices brought 

together, under a single program manager, representatives from all the 

service’s components involved in developing, producing, and deploying the 

weapon system including their contractors.41 Jack Neufeld, of the Air Force 

historian’s office, has well and thoroughly described how the weapon system 

management concept and project office structure that had been evolving 

in the Air Force for several years were put into practice in the mid–1950s 

to produce the Air Force’s Atlas and Titan ICBMs and Thor IRBM.42 The 

management methods and structure employed in those programs were copied 

throughout the Air Research and Development Command, starting with the 

B–52 in 1956. By the end of the decade, they had been institutionalized in the 

Air Force’s 375–series regulations.43

 In his path-breaking study, Polaris System Development, Harvey 

Sapolsky has analyzed the weapon system management concept in the 

context of the Navy’s Fleet Ballistic Missile program; the secretary of the 

Navy authorized its Special Projects Office in November 1955.44 Although 

neither recognized nor intended at the time, the Special Projects Office 

marked the beginning of the end of the traditional bureau structure. It 

had been set up to resolve the dispute between BuOrd and BuAer over 

control of the fleet ballistic missile program and was supposed to be 

temporary. In 1956, the Libby Board, chartered by the chief of naval 

operations, examined the bureau structure as it related to weapon system 

development and concluded that the materiel process in the Navy did not 

require reorganization. Special projects offices should be used only in 

exceptional circumstances. Instead the board recommended that a “lead 

bureau” be designated to direct and to coordinate development of new 

weapon systems when more than one bureau was involved. This became 

Navy policy in 1957. Additionally, the merger of BuOrd and BuAer into the 

Bureau of Naval Weapons in 1959 was intended to eliminate jurisdictional 
36 Providing the Means of War

disputes. Thus despite the success of the Special Projects Office, the Navy 

sought for some years longer to adapt its traditional acquisition structure 

to the demands of new weapon development and the bureaus “retained 

a substantial degree of independence in program execution through the 

1950s. . . .”45

Weapon system management methods and structures were especially 

well suited to concurrency. That acquisition strategy came to dominate 

the acquisition process by the end of the 1950s, especially (although 

not exclusively) in the Air Force and particularly in aircraft and missile 

programs (although again not only in those—the Army employed 

concurrency in developing the M551 tank beginning in 1958).46 Traditional 

development methods were sequential. That is, research, design, 

engineering development, production, and deployment proceeded in an 

orderly way, one following the other. Stages were not compressed nor 

did they overlap. Testing was extensive. The underlying assumption was 

that technological uncertainties were best dealt with in this deliberate 

manner. Under concurrency elements of the acquisition process occurred 

simultaneously. Production and deployment activities took place even while 

research and development were underway. Thus in the Air Force’s ICBM 

program, launch sites were constructed, support equipment was developed, 

and crews began training, even while the missile and its subsystems were 

being developed and tested, and before final configurations had been set.47

Concurrency was not new to the post-World War II period. It had been 

employed during the war, in fact, even before the United States entered 

the conflict. The B–29 is most often cited as an example of concurrent 

development. Its factories were under construction and its machine tools 

were being designed well before the aircraft’s first flight in September 

1942.48 But production contracts had also been signed for the B–24 and 

the B–26 in 1939 before either of those aircraft flew.49 Similarly, in 1940, 

Chrysler began building a plant near Detroit and installing production 

machinery before the design for the Army’s M3 tank had been completed.50

In both World War II and the 1950s, the urgency of the strategic 

situation caused weapon development to be accelerated. What largely 

distinguished concurrency in World War II from the postwar era was 

the increasingly sophisticated and complex nature of the systems being 

developed in the latter period.51 Achieving the required technological 

advances and effecting the essential planning and coordination demanded 

by concurrency became more problematic. Programs frequently failed 

to fulfill desired performance characteristics, fell behind schedule, and 

incurred dramatically higher costs. Even in some programs that produced 

the needed capability quickly, concurrency took its toll. In the Air Force’s 
Into the cold war 37

successful ICBM development effort, writes Neufeld, concurrency “saved 

much valuable time but also increased costs considerably, often resulted 

in unrealistic training, and turned out systems that required extensive 

modification and refinement.”52 Costly modifications were especially 

numerous in Atlas and Titan I site construction.53

In the 1950s, the high cost and other drawbacks of concurrent 

development were accepted as necessary, even inevitable. General Bernard 

A. Schriever, who directed the ICBM program, told an interviewer years 

later: “You don’t wait till you fly a missile downstream . . . to make a 

decision beforehand for production. You have to get long-lead-time items, 

do your production planning, get your training started, your logistics set 

up, all established. I don’t know how the hell you could have done the 

ICBM program other than the way we did it, because we were plowing new 

ground.”54 By the end of the 1960s, concurrency came to be viewed in a 

much different light. In 1970, Deputy Secretary of Defense David Packard 

directed that all systems be developed sequentially (i.e., “fly before buy”). 

“As I reviewed program after program beginning in the spring of 1969,” 

he wrote, “almost all were in trouble from a common fault—production. 

They had been started before engineering development was finished. . . .”55

Concurrency, along with cost overruns, schedule delays, and performance 

shortfalls reemerged in the 1980s as the United States sought a rapid 

buildup in its military capabilities. In 1987, Les Aspin, then chairman of the 

House Armed Services Committee, referring to concurrency, proclaimed 

that it was “always a mistake.”56

Michael Brown, author of an outstanding analysis of Air Force bomber 

programs in the post-World War II decades, argues that the problem is 

not the acquisition strategy per se, but rather the relationship between a 

program’s development objectives and the strategy selected to achieve 

them. The more ambitious the objectives—the greater the technological 

advances required—the more likely it is that sequential development will 

succeed. Conversely, if it is not necessary to push the state of the art, then 

the probability that concurrency will fulfill program cost, schedule, and 

performance goals increases. “For programs with modest objectives,” 

Brown says, “concurrent strategies may deliver operational systems quickly 

and inexpensively.”57

Nearly every Air Force postwar bomber program was technologically 

ambitious. For example, the B–47 and B–52, both initiated in the 1940s, 

pushed the state of the art (although the B–47 to a greater extent than the 

B–52), initially employed sequential strategies, and met development 

targets. Problems occurred when the Air Force accelerated the programs in 

the early 1950s and interjected concurrency. The supersonic B–58, which 
38 Providing the Means of War

began development in 1951 and was comparable to the B–47 in terms of the 

technological advances demanded, employed a high degree of concurrency 

from the start. It experienced cost, schedule, and performance difficulties 

throughout its nearly decade-long acquisition history—in fact, the first 

B–58 wing was not operational until 1961, four years later than originally 

scheduled.58

The national emergency of World War II that had prompted 

concurrency to be applied to weapon development also caused radical 

changes in the nation’s contracting procedures, dramatically altering 

the relationship between the government and private contractors. Those 

changes, unlike after previous wars, were not revoked and continued into 

the postwar period, profoundly affecting weapons acquisition.

Before World War II, the government used a system of advertising and 

sealed, competitive bids to award contracts. Except during wartime, that 

system, believed to be democratic and to foster competition, had been in 

place for much of the nation’s history. During World War II (actually even 

before America’s entry), the government authorized negotiated contracts 

to be substituted for advertising and competitive bidding and cost-plusfixed-fee contracts to be used rather than fixed price contracts. Additionally, 

the government disbursed advance, progress, and partial payments to 

contractors and assumed much of the cost of new plants and equipment. 

These measures stimulated production but also shifted much of the risk 

traditionally borne by the contractor to the nation and its taxpayers.59

After the war, the government continued the wartime practices. The 

Armed Services Procurement Act of 1947, while specifying that advertising 

and competitive bidding were to be the standard contracting procedure, 

also provided liberal exceptions that opened the door to widespread use of 

negotiated contracts.60 In FY 1950, negotiated contracts accounted for more 

than 72 percent of the total value of contracts awarded; in FY 1951 (the first 

year of the Korean War), nearly 88 percent; and by the late 1950s, still more 

than 80 percent.61 Similarly, although the act required use of fixed-price 

contracts, it also permitted other contract instruments if justification were 

provided. By 1960, more than 40 percent of the contracts awarded by the 

Air Force were cost-plus-fixed-fee.62 Under these arrangements, if a system 

required modification after production began, the government paid for it. 

In the 1950s, one study concludes, “[t]echnical competition was generally 

considered more important than price competition.”63

The role of contractors in the acquisition process also changed, 

expanding far beyond what it had been before World War II when, with 

some exceptions (notably aircraft), the services performed most weapon 

R&D and considerable production in their own laboratories, shipyards, and 
Into the cold war 39

arsenals. “Increasingly,” writes Harvey Sapolsky, “the military came to rely 

on contractors for the development of its weapons.”64 Under the weapon 

system concept, the services often employed a “prime contractor” to 

manage, under overall military supervision, a system’s entire development 

and production. The prime contractor subcontracted with others to develop 

subsystems or specific components.65

With the government’s assumption of more of the financial risk of 

weapon development and use of negotiated contracts as well as greater 

contractor involvement in the overall process came more extensive 

government supervision of and control over contractor activities.66 This 

overall trend produced a need for a skilled and knowledgeable acquisition 

workforce. In 1958, one estimate is that about 11,000 officers, 43,000 

civilian scientists and engineers, and 10,000 civilian price analysts, 

contract negotiators, administrators, auditors and attorneys were 

involved in weapon acquisition.67 A 1952 DoD directive had required 

each service to establish a program to recruit and train competent 

personnel for acquisition, and in 1955 the Hoover Commission had 

called for career development of acquisition management and technical 

personnel.68 In 1962, however, Peck and Scherer concluded that “the 

average level of capability available for U.S. weapons programs has been 

far from sufficient to meet the tremendous need for high competence in 

administering rapid technological advances.”69

The revolution in contracting arrangements initiated in World War 

II and the greater role contractors began to play after the war in weapon 

design and development reflected a growing characteristic of postwar 

acquisition: it was shifting from the public to the private sector. The 

services (the Army and Navy more than the Air Force) continued to 

maintain substantial in-house R&D and production capabilities from 1945 

to1958. The trend, however, was away from their use toward more reliance 

on private industry, the universities, and entirely new kinds of institutions 

like the non-profit RAND Corporation (1948), Institute for Defense 

Analyses (1956), or MITRE Corporation (1958) to design, develop, and 

produce weapon systems.70

Some specific examples illustrate the point. After World War II, 

the percentage of DoD’s private-sector research and development was 

substantial in absolute terms—of more than $500 million for R&D in FY 

1950, about 54 percent went to industry and 9 percent to industries and 

other non-profit research institutions.71 In FY 1958, the Army spent 53 

percent of its R&D funds in its own facilities; the Navy, 40 percent; and the 

Air Force, 27 percent. The rest went to the private sector.72 Over the course 

of the 1950s, the government (in tune with the ideological bent of the 
40 Providing the Means of War

Eisenhower administration and reinforced in 1955 by the recommendations 

of the Hoover Commission), steadily reduced the large number (288 in 

1954) of weapon-related industrial plants that it owned and increased 

federal support for the expansion of private facilities.73 Finally, the Navy 

came under especially intensive pressure to “privatize.” From 1953 to 

1960, private shipyards gained a steadily increasing share (from about 55 

percent to more than 85 percent) of new naval ship construction contracts 

and of ship repair and conversion work that normally had been done almost 

entirely in Navy-owned yards.74

World War II was a watershed in the system for providing materiel for 

the U.S. armed forces. Although there were elements of continuity, what 

came after differed markedly from had existed before. The never-ending 

and urgent pursuit of the most advanced weapons was the key change 

agent—significantly expanding the place of research and development in 

acquisition, intensifying interservice rivalry, challenging the adequacy of 

traditional organizational acquisition structures, and fundamentally altering 

the role private contractors played in the process. The services resisted 

OSD’s effort to gain greater control over acquisition and centralize its 

management. At the same time, the services found their own acquisition 

structures wanting and developed new organizations, management methods, 

and acquisition strategies. By 1958, the acquisition landscape looked much 

different than it had in 1945. What had been mostly the province of the 

individual services had become more fragmented and diverse, including 

greatly expanded roles for private industry and the universities; the insertion 

of an overarching authority, OSD; and the creation of entirely new entities 

to perform research and development, closely tied to but still outside of 

government. Indeed, as acquisition moved more toward the private sector, it 

became much more visible and open to scrutiny.
Into the cold war 41

Notes

1

 William J. Clinton, “Address Before a Joint Session of the Congress on 

the State of the Union,” 24 January 1995, Public Papers of the Presidents of 

the United States: William J. Clinton, 1995, 2 vols. (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 

1996), I: 75–86; George W. Bush Inaugural Address, 20 January 2001, Vital 

Speeches of the Day, LXVII, no. 8 (1 February 2001): 226–28.

2

 Dwight D. Eisenhower, “Annual Message to the Congress on the State 

of the Union,” 9 January 1958, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United 

States: Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1958 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1959), 8.

3

 David E. Lockwood, Andrew C. Mayer, and Cheryl A. Crow, 

“Summary of Principal Reports,” Defense Acquisition: Major U.S. 

Commission Reports (1949–1988), Vol. 1, report prepared for the Defense 

Policy Panel and the Acquisition Policy Panel of the House Committee on 

Armed Services, 100th Cong., 2d sess., 1988, Committee Print 26, 3.

4

 Defense Department, Defense Systems Management College, 

Acquisition Policy Department, Glossary: Defense Acquisition Acronyms 

and Terms, 10th ed. (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2001), B–1.

5

 Merton J. Peck and Frederic M. Scherer, The Weapons Acquisition 

Process: An Economic Analysis (Boston: Harvard University, 1962).

6

 C. W. Borklund, U.S. Defense and Military Factbook (Santa Barbara, 

Calif.: ABC-CLIO, 1991), 34.

7 Richard M. Leighton and Robert W. Coakley, “Logistics—The Word 

and the Thing,” in Global Logistics and Strategy, 1940–1943, U.S. Army 

in World War II (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, Department 

of the Army, 1955), 11–13; Steven L. Rearden, The Formative Years, 1947–

1950, Vol. I, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense, ed. Alfred 

Goldberg (Washington, D.C.: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of 

Defense, 1984), 90.

8

 Michael S. Sherry, Preparing for the Next War: American Plans for 

Postwar Defense (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1977), 52–57, 

127–34.

9

 Dwight D. Eisenhower, “Letter to the Secretary of Defense on 

National Security Requirements,” January 5, 1955, Public Papers of the 

Presidents of the United States: Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1955 (Washington, 

D.C.: GPO, 1955), 3.

10 A. J. Bacevich, The Pentomic Era: The U.S. Army Between Korea 

and Vietnam (Washington, D.C.: National Defense University Press, 1986), 

71–101.
42 Providing the Means of War

11 Quoted in Michael H. Armacost, The Politics of Weapons Innovation: 

The Thor-Jupiter Controversy (New York: Columbia University Press, 

1969), 44. 12 Kenneth M. Jones, “The Government Science Complex,” in 

Reshaping American Society and Institutions, 1945–1960, ed. Robert A. 

Brenner and Gary N. Reichard (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 

1982), 319, 327.

13 Executive Office of the President, Office of Management and Budget, 

Historical Tables, Budget of the United States Government, Fiscal Year 

2002, Table 9.7, “Summary of Outlays for the Conduct of Research and 

Development: 1949–2002” (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2001), 170. 14 Jacob Neufeld, The Development of Ballistic Missiles in the United 

States Air Force, 1945–1960 (Washington, D.C.: United States Air Force, 

Office of Air Force History, 1990), 28.

15 James E. Hewes, Jr., From Root to McNamara: Army Organization 

and Administration, 1900–1963 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military 

History, United States Army, 1975), 244.

16 Historical Tables, 170.

17 Armacost, Politics of Weapons Innovation, 9.

18 Quoted in Malcolm Muir, Jr., Black Shoes and Blue Water: Surface 

Warfare in the United States Navy, 1945–1975 (Washington, D.C.: 

Department of the Navy, Naval Historical Center, 1996), 29.

19 Hewes, Root to McNamara, 254–55.

20 James F. Nagle, A History of Government Contracting (Washington, 

D.C.: The George Washington University, 1992), 476. 21 Michael E. Brown, Flying Blind: The Politics of the U.S. Strategic 

Bomber Program (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1992), 25–26, 

320–23. 22 Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles, 122–31.

23 Eisenhower, “Annual Message to the Congress,” Public Papers of the 

Presidents . . . 1958, 8. 24 Ibid.

25 Roger R. Trask and Alfred Goldberg, The Department of Defense, 

1947–1997: Organization and Leaders (Washington, D.C.: Office of the 

Secretary of Defense, Historical Office, 1997), 3–34; Peck and Scherer, 

Weapons Acquisition Process, 72–74; Hewes, Root to McNamara, 296–98; 

Booz, Allen & Hamilton, Inc., Review of Navy R&D Management, 1946–

1943 (1 June 1976), 19–33, 53–56, and Summary, 4, 7.

26 “National Security Act of 1947,” The Department of Defense: 

Documents on Establishment and Organization, 1944–1978, ed. Alice 

C. Cole, Alfred Goldberg, Samuel A. Tucker, and Rudolph A. Winnacker 
Into the cold war 43

(Washington, D.C.: Office of the Secretary of Defense, Historical Office, 

1978), 40.

27 Ibid., 47.

28 Rearden, Formative Years, 90–103; Doris M. Condit, The Test of War, 

1950–1953, Vol. II, History of the Office of the Secretary of Defense, ed. 

Alfred Goldberg (Washington, D.C.: Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

Historical Office, 1988), 501–09; John Perry Miller, “Military Procurement 

Policies: World War II and Today,” The American Economic Review 42, no. 

2 (May 1952): 460; Herbert F. York and G. Allen Greb, “Military Research 

and Development: A Postwar History,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 33, 

no. 1 (January 1977): 15–16, 18–19; Aaron L. Friedberg, In the Shadow 

of the Garrison State: America’s Anti-Statism and Its Cold War Grand 

Strategy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000), 316–17.

29 Condit, Test of War, 502.

30 Trask and Goldberg, Department of Defense, 1947–1997, 21–22.

31 Friedberg, Shadow, 317.

32 Robert J. Watson, Into the Missile Age, 1956–1960, Vol. IV, History 

of the Office of the Secretary of Defense, ed. Alfred Goldberg (Washington, 

D.C.: Office of the Secretary of Defense, Historical Office, 1997), 274–75, 

286, 288, 361–63; Booz, Allen & Hamilton, Navy R&D Management, 32, 

53–56.

33 York and Greb, “Military Research and Development,” 24.

34 “Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1958,” Documents on 

Establishment and Organization, 204–05.

35 Watson, Missile Age, 291; Charles J. Hitch, “Evolution of the 

Department of Defense, in American Defense Policy, 3d ed., ed. Richard G. 

Head and Ervin J. Rokke (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 

1973), 348; Alain C. Enthoven and K. Wayne Smith, “New Concepts and 

Tools to Shape the Defense Program,” in ibid., 349–58.

36 Peck and Scherer, Weapons Acquisition Process, 75.

37 Quoted in Hewes, Root to McNamara, 120–21.

38 Ibid., 121–26, 157–61, 242–58; Edward C. Ezell, “Patterns in Small 

Arms Procurement Since 1945,” in War, Business, and American Society: 

Historical Perspectives on the Military-Industrial Complex, ed. Benjamin 

Franklin Cooling (Port Washington, N.Y.: National University Publications, 

Kennikat Press, 1977), 146–51.

39 Rodney P. Carlisle, Management of the U.S. Navy Research and 

Development Centers During the Cold War: A Survey Guide to Reports

(Washington, D.C.: Navy Laboratory/Center Coordinating Group and 

the Naval Historical Center, 1996), 5; Booz, Allen & Hamilton, Navy 

R&D Management, 3–17; David K. Allison, “U.S. Navy Research and 
44 Providing the Means of War

Development Since World War II,” in Military Enterprise and Technical 

Change: Perspectives on the American Experience, ed. Merritt Roe Smith 

(Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1985), 292–99.

40 Lawrence R. Benson, Acquisition Management in the United States 

Air Force and Its Predecessors (Air Force History and Museums Program, 

1997), 2, 19–31; Michael H. Gorn, Vulcan’s Forge: The Making of an Air 

Force Command For Weapons Acquisition (1950–1985), Vol. I, Narrative

(Andrews Air Force Base, Md.: Office of History, Headquarters Air 

Force Systems Command, 1989), 1–33, 51–72; Reflections on Research 

and Development in the United States Air Force, ed. Jacob Neufeld 

(Washington, D.C.: Center for Air Force History, 1993), 2–4. 41 Benson, Acquisition Management, 24–31; Gorn, Vulcan’s Forge, 

I: 28–33; Booz, Allen & Hamilton, Navy R&D Management, 347–48; 

Carlisle, Management of the U.S. Navy Research and Development Centers, 

14; Thomas C. Hone, Power and Change: The Administrative History of 

the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, 1946–1986 (Washington, D.C.: 

Department of the Navy, Naval Historical Center, 1989), 36–39; Wilbur 

D. Jones, Jr., Arming the Eagle: A History of U.S. Weapons Acquisition 

Since 1775 (Fort Belvoir, Va.: Defense Systems Management College 

Press, 1999), 358; David D. Acker, “The Maturing of the DoD Acquisition 

Process,” Defense Systems Management Review 3, no. 3 (Summer 1980): 

9–10; J. R. Nelson and Karen W. Tyson, A Perspective on the Defense 

Weapons Acquisition Process, IDA Paper P–2048 (Alexandria, Va.: Institute 

for Defense Analyses, September 1987), II–30. 42 Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles. 43 Neufeld, Reflections on Research and Development in the United 

States Air Force, 5. 44 Harvey M. Sapolsky, The Polaris System Development: Bureaucratic 

and Programmatic Success in Government (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard 

University Press, 1972).

45 Ibid., 61–64; Booz, Allen & Hamilton, Navy R&D Management, 

45–46, and Summary, 55.

46 Brown, Flying Blind, 330–31; Nelson and Tyson, Defense Weapons 

Acquisition Process, II–33.

47 Brown, Flying Blind, 17–18; Benson, Acquisition Management, 

26–28; Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles, 201.

48 Alfred Goldberg, “Equipment and Services,” in Men and Planes, Vol. 6, 

The Army Air Forces in World War II, ed. Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea 

Cate (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1955; new imprint Washington, 

D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1983), 201; Jacob Vander Meulen, Building 
Into the cold war 45

the B–29 (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 21, 86; 

Roger E. Bilstein, The American Aerospace Industry: From Workshop to 

Global Enterprise (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1996), 75–76.

49 Brown, Flying Blind, 56–58.

50 Philip Shiman, Forging the Sword: Defense Production During the 

Cold War, USACERL Special Report 97/77 (United States Air Force Air 

Combat Command and Department of Defense Legacy Program, Cold War 

Project, July 1997), 6.

51 Benson, Acquisition Management, 26.

52 Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles, 201.

53 Ibid.; John C. Lonnquest and David F. Winkler, To Defend and 

Deter: The Legacy of the United States Cold War Missile Program, 

USACERL Special Report 97/01 (Department of Defense Legacy Resource 

Management Program, Cold War Project), 79.

54 Quoted in Gorn, Vulcan’s Forge, I: 48. 55 Quoted in Robert G. Gibson, “Concurrency,” Defense Systems 

Management Review 2, no. 4 (Autumn 1979): 68.

56 Quoted in Brown, Flying Blind, 19. 57 Ibid., 21 and 19–24 for the general argument.

58 Ibid., 68–69, 105–06, 147–53, 157–62, 190–92, 338–39.

59 Nagle, History of Government Contracting, 407–09, 415–23, 433–45; 

Robert Higgs, “Private Profit, Public Risk: Institutional Antecedents of 

the Modern Military Procurement System in the Rearmament Program 

of 1940–1941,” in The Sinews of War: Essays on the Economic History 

of World War II, ed. Geoffrey T. Mills and Hugh Rockoff (Ames: Iowa 

State University Press, 1993), 174–77; Commission on Government 

Procurement, Appendix G, “Historical Development of the Procurement 

Process,” Report (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1972), 170–71; Miller, “Military 

Procurement Policies,” 458–59.

60 Nagle, History of Government Contracting, 467–70; Commission 

on Government Procurement, “Development of the Procurement Process,” 

171–72, 177–78.

61 Miller, “Military Procurement Policies,” 458; Jones, Arming the 

Eagle, 360.

62 Nelson and Tyson, Defense Weapons Acquisition Process, II–30.

63 Ibid.

64 Sapolsky, Polaris System Development, 78.

65 Ibid.; Benson, Acquisition Management, 27; Booz, Allen & Hamilton, 

Navy R&D Management, 347–51; and Nelson and Tyson, Defense Weapons 

Acquisition Process, II–30.
46 Providing the Means of War

66 Commission on Government Procurement, “Development of the 

Procurement Process,” 180.

67 Peck and Scherer, Weapons Acquisition Process, 85–86.

68 Commission on the Organization of the Executive Branch of the 

Government, Business Organization of the Department of Defense: A 

Report to the Congress (Washington, D.C.: GPO, June 1955), 59–61.

69 Peck and Scherer, Weapons Acquisition Process, 86.

70 For an extended discussion, see Friedberg, Shadow of the Garrison 

State, chapters 7 and 8; Harvey M. Sapolsky, “Equipping the Armed 

Forces,” Armed Forces and Society 14, no. 1 (Fall 1987): 117; U.S. 

Senate Committee on Government Operations, Report to the President 

on Government Contracting for Research and Development (Prepared by 

the Bureau of the Budget and Referred to the Committee on Government 

Operations), 87th Cong., 2d sess., 1962, S. Doc. 94, 1–3.

71 Daniel J. Kevles, “K1S2: Korea, Science, and the State,” in Big 

Science: The Growth of Large-Scale Research, ed. Peter Galison and Bruce 

Hevly (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1988), 314.

72 Donald W. Mitchell, Research and Development (Washington, D.C.: 

Industrial College of the Armed Forces, 1960), 101–03.

73 Shiman, Forging the Sword, 53–54, 69.

74 Friedberg, Shadow, 257.
SOSUS, the Navy, and Bell Labs

Gary E. Weir

Since World War I, relationships among naval officers, the scientific 

community, and industry in the United States have demonstrated well the 

evolutionary trials facing productive professional dialogues. The customs 

and practices of industry or university ocean sciences laboratories contrast 

sharply with the traditions and conventions of midshipmen at the United 

States Naval Academy or officers deployed on warships.

Different professional groups exist in unique, culturally constructed 

worlds. During the course of the twentieth century, the understanding 

necessary for these distinct groups to work together toward a common 

goal has required social and political insight as well as careful cultural 

translation. Fruitful professional dialogues are products of conscious design 

and determination, not accidents or the natural course of events.

Beginning as individual cooperative efforts undertaken to compensate 

for the poverty of the interwar period, the initially ad hoc relationship 

between ocean science and the Navy in the United States developed an 

effective cross-cultural dialogue while responding to the considerable 

demands of World War II. This dialogue achieved maturity and maximum 

effect in the ocean sciences through a series of summer studies used by the 

armed forces in collaboration with science and industry early in the Cold 

War to clarify strategic, scientific, and technical priorities.

Copious oral history and textual primary sources from naval and 

private archives permit careful examination of the evolutionary steps in this 

process. Presently, I am going to trace the evolution of this critical dialogue 

from its wartime origins through the first of these enormously productive 

Cold War summer studies. In the process, I will briefly explore the genesis 

and early development of the deep ocean sound surveillance system, 

SOSUS. Through this system of fixed ocean-bottom hydrophones, the Navy 

detected, identified, and, for decades, monitored the movements of Soviet 
48 Providing the Means of War

submarines deemed as early as 1950 the most dangerous maritime threat to 

the security of the United States.

Before World War II, the Navy concentrated on preserving as many 

of its assets as possible in a time of budgetary constraints. The collection 

of ocean data fell to its poorly funded but imaginatively led hydrographic 

office, often referred to as Hydro. In the process of producing charts vital 

to safe navigation and performing hydrographic surveys in the Atlantic and 

Pacific Oceans, as well as in the Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean Sea, Hydro 

sought cooperative ventures of universities and research institutions to 

further its work.

In an atmosphere of mutual need, the Navy and civilian oceanography 

built a “common practice” on shared scientific ambitions driven by limited 

resources and institutional as well as personal agendas. After all, the Navy 

had the ocean-going ships and crews that were absolutely necessary for data 

collection at sea. In return for time at sea and logistical support, civilian 

scientists often provided special advice and the analytical skills necessary to 

digest more efficiently and swiftly the information collected by both Hydro 

surveys and naval vessels regularly plying the world ocean.

Few imagined that this relationship, wrought of poverty and necessity, 

could provide adequate resources in a time of national emergency; thus, 

upon the outbreak of the European war in 1939, responsible authorities 

quickly focused their attention on the need for closer cooperation between 

scientists and the Navy. The highest levels of American government 

acknowledged the importance of building relationships between the Navy 

and the civilian academy, and appropriate steps were taken to promote 

cooperation between these groups.

President Franklin Roosevelt established a National Defense Research 

Committee (NDRC) in June 1940. The NDRC came under the direction 

of Vannevar Bush of Washington’s Carnegie Institution. Roosevelt 

sought to use the NDRC to mobilize scientific talent and resources for 

possible American involvement in World War II. Initially presented with 

a $4.8 million budget, Bush and his colleagues moved quickly to open 

communication and initiate dialogues with the armed forces.

Cultural and professional challenges posed the greatest potential 

obstacle to effective collaboration. Products of an educational process that 

imprinted individuals with a strong sense of naval culture, officers molded 

at the U.S. Naval Academy, with few exceptions, largely viewed themselves 

as engineers and seamen, applying modern technology to a style of warfare 

their community had virtually defined.

Many of them viewed with great skepticism the idea that science 

might play an effective role in naval combat. As the country’s defense 
sosus, the navy, and bell labs 49

mobilization began, the services of informal cultural translators emerged 

as one of the most effective ways to bridge the gap between combat officer 

and oceanographer, between engineer and scientist, indeed, between 

technology and science.

Neither scientists with a talent for engineering solutions nor engineers 

comfortable with scientific concepts and the extensive theoretical literature, 

“cultural translators” provided an opportunity for mutual understanding and 

bridge-building. The task took American scientists and some naval officials 

far beyond mere missionary work or linguistic translation. They neither 

desired to win over the professional souls of the individual naval officers 

nor felt that ocean science offered strategic salvation. Rather, if the Navy 

at large would employ oceanography or the ocean sciences as a significant 

and strategic tactical tool, the consequences would dramatically advance 

both science and the war effort. All of this had little to do with vocabulary. 

It had everything to do with opening professional borders and building a 

mutually profitable common experience. Unlike a simple common practice 

based upon mutual poverty, this kind of cultural translation brought together 

the people whose education, assumptions, habits, and interests stood in 

dramatic contrast.

This process had a twofold effect. The first represented an initial step 

toward a cross-cultural dialogue. In this sense, this cultural translation 

had nothing to do with rendering “navalese” intelligible to the scientific 

community. Anthropologist Clifford Geertz described this insightful activity 

as, 

not a simple recasting of others’ ways of putting things in terms of our own ways of 

putting them (that is the kind in which things get lost), but displaying the logic of 

their ways of putting them in the locution of ours; a conception which again brings 

it rather closer to what a critic does to illumine a poem than what an astronomer 

does to account for a star.

Each community needed to learn about and appreciate an alternative 

view of the world. It fell to cultural translators to grasp the depth and 

scope of both communities’ experiences and to use their potential and their 

common interests and ambitions as a wartime tool.1

The second effect proved inventive. The challenging bisociative context 

of the dialogue provided fertile ground for innovation. In a bisociative 

process, critical people interact outside their customary experience on 

multiple levels and along many intersecting intellectual paths, frequently 

producing significant scientific discoveries and technological innovations. 

In these circumstances, bisociation suggests that a type of benign shock 

occurred that permitted creative connections, intellectual leaps, and the kind 
50 Providing the Means of War

of curiosity that a professional can energetically indulge only when safely 

outside customary professional-cultural boundaries.2

The ocean sciences profited significantly from the effort of individuals 

offering new perspectives, challenging old habits, and building a dialogue 

with the Navy on the results. The war effort welcomed the beneficial 

application of ocean technology and environmental understanding to 

combat. In 1945, however, this productive process still rested on select 

individual initiatives.

Critical naval and scientific agencies created soon after the war helped 

the wartime working dialogue complete the transition to peacetime and 

to evolve further. From the rapidly demobilizing University of California 

Division of War Research, Director Gaylord Harnwell voiced his preference 

early after the war for continued ocean research in conjunction with the 

Navy. This initiative prompted the creation of the National Academy of 

Sciences Committee on Undersea Warfare, at the official request of the 

Navy’s Office of Research and Invention. Populated almost entirely by 

wartime veteran scientists and experienced cultural translators, the National 

Academy of Sciences Committee assisted in planning programs to address 

what would soon become the Navy’s principal strategic postwar priority: 

antisubmarine warfare. It also placed many experienced translators in the 

quasi-official position of advisor to the federal government on undersea 

warfare through the National Academy of Sciences. In a similar way, the 

creation of the Office of Naval Research and the Oceanography Division at 

Hydro in late 1946 placed within the federal service as naval officials select 

scientists with wartime experience and a talent for cultural translation.

These people knew the Navy, the needs of ocean science, and the 

importance of their post-war activities to an effective dialogue. Besides, 

scientists found it easier to communicate their needs to the federal patron 

if the person speaking for the government was a friend, a colleague, or a 

scientist or technician of stature. They used the same culturally constructed 

vocabulary, appreciated purely scientific needs and concerns, and addressed 

more effectively and immediately the incommensurability that often 

occurred between Academy-molded officers and industrial laboratory staff 

and university-shaped scientists. They truly had one foot in each camp 

and brought an understanding to the process of building mature post-war 

dialogues that no other individual or institution could match.3

It proved even more significant that these individuals, who could best 

understand this often difficult relationship, had in their control at the time 

the bulk of the Navy’s money for sponsoring ocean science research. The 

rapid progress of the next decade was not simply good fortune but the 

result of this enhanced an effective dialogue empowered by individuals 
sosus, the navy, and bell labs 51

who collectively possessed the cultural instincts of scientific insiders 

complemented by the administrative authority and the assets to act.

The first five postwar years seemed the perfect time to take the 

initiative. No sooner had the Cold War begun in earnest than the Navy 

defined Soviet exploitation of advanced submarine technology captured 

from the Germans as the most potent future maritime threat. The ability 

to detect that threat quickly became one of the Navy’s most critical Cold 

War priorities. In 1949, the Navy accelerated its underwater sound effort 

by establishing Submarine Development Group 2, based in New London, 

Connecticut, to explore new discoveries in sound behavior below 300 hertz 

in conjunction with naval and civilian laboratories. Very low frequencies 

took center stage because a prewar discovery, ignored for some years now, 

took on a truly special significance.

In 1937, Maurice Ewing made a startling discovery while doing 

refraction experiments aboard Atlantis, the research vessel of the Woods 

Hole Oceanographic Institution. This scientist, a future founder of 

Columbia University’s Lamont Geological Observatory, had no listening 

equipment onboard, just seismographs lying three miles down on the ocean 

bottom. Full of curiosity, Ewing put his ear to the ship’s rail to listen for the 

rate of echo from the explosion of ten-pound blocks of TNT that provided a 

sound source for his experiments. In a period of roughly eighteen seconds, 

the explosion echo repeatedly transversed the distance between the ship and 

the bottom, making the round trip seven times by Ewing’s calculation.

Allowing for surface and bottom reflections reduced the intensity of 

the signal each time it made the trip, the sound from the explosion traveled 

twenty-one miles before dying out. Ewing estimated that each reflection had 

reduced the intensity of the sound by roughly one-tenth. If his approximation 

came even close to the truth, a sound might retain its initial clarity and 

intensity in a horizontal ocean layer that would minimize reflection loss. 

Proper amplifiers and hydrophones could boost the signal a thousand times 

for the human ear. If research proved this hypothesis correct, the layer of the 

ocean that would permit minimal reflection could very well transmit sound 

over thousands of miles for the well-prepared listener.

Aboard Atlantis in that year, Ewing postulated the condition of this 

natural condition in the ocean and called it the “deep sound channel.” 

Employing the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution as his base of 

operations during the latter portion of World War II, Ewing combined his 

extensive experience at sea with new data arriving daily from Hydro to 

determine the nature and possible utility of the channel. In the process, 

he unwittingly set the Navy and the scientific community on the road to 

SOSUS. 
52 Providing the Means of War

Now, discovering strategically significant characteristics of the world’s 

ocean at the time proved a lot easier than convincing the wartime Navy of its 

value. Ewing initially suggested that it would be a good way to triangulate on 

downed officers, flyers for example. He suggested that it was possible to put 

a grenade or some sort of detonation device in the water and it would sink, 

detonate, and receivers could triangulate the location of the pilot. Because the 

Navy was sufficiently comfortable with its existing rescue system, Ewing’s 

proposal was never picked up. The Navy showed minimal interest in what 

Ewing called SOFAR (sound fixing and recording).4

Seven years later, however, in the postwar context and facing a 

potential Soviet submarine threat, the Navy’s perspective changed 

considerably. Experimental detection results obtained over an early Pacific 

SOFAR based air/sea rescue system installed for the Coast Guard looked 

very practical and promising. 

The data attracted the attention of both Rear Adm. Charles Momsen, 

as the Assistant Chief of Naval Operations for Undersea Warfare, and Bell 

Telephone Laboratories’ Director of Research Mervin J. Kelly. Momsen 

and Rear Adm. Thorvald A. Solberg, Chief of Naval Research, discussed 

the matter in a meeting with Kelly in New York on 27 February 1950. Also 

in attendance at the meeting were J.B. Fiske, Kelly’s assistants, and Julius 

Stratton, provost of MIT.

Given the Navy’s view that Soviet submarines posed the most critical 

future naval threat, Stratton proposed to the Navy Department that Bell 

and MIT work jointly. He offered his institution as the best possible site 

for an intensive summer study of the problem, a course already suggested 

by the National Academy of Sciences’ Committee on Undersea Warfare. 

Taking things one step further, Stratton nominated Jerrold R. Zacharias of 

MIT as the study director. At Munson’s request, the committee formally 

recommended the project to the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO), Admiral 

Forrest Sherman, and Stratton went to MIT President James Killian for his 

blessing on the offer to host the project.

With community support for the study and Killian’s endorsement, a 23 

March letter from Admiral Momsen to the CNO won Sherman’s approval. 

The effort was called Project Hartwell, after a popular watering hole not 

too far from the MIT campus. A preliminary gathering of participants 

took place on 27 April in the National Academy of Sciences building in 

Washington during the annual meeting of the American Physical Society. 

Before the planning session broke up, Admiral Solberg and Admiral 

Momsen encouraged the Hartwell recruits to remain in Washington to 

attend the Committee on Undersea Warfare’s Fifth Undersea Symposium 

scheduled for 15 and 16 May.
sosus, the navy, and bell labs 53

A number of them did and, thus, were present for what many later came 

to call the “bombshell report” delivered by physicist Frederick V. “Ted” 

Hunt, wartime director of the Harvard Underwater Sound Laboratory. Hunt 

vividly demonstrated for his audience the combat potential locked up in 

Ewing’s 1937 discovery of the deep sound channel.

Together with Norman Haskell of the Air Force Cambridge 

Laboratories, Hunt had looked to the general problem of sound transmission 

in the atmosphere for direction as he came to terms of the riddle of 

underwater acoustics. In concluding his comments, Hunt brought his 

audience and the Navy into modern Cold War ocean surveillance, 

All of this sounds queer, doesn’t it? But not as queer as the fact that the time interval corresponding to echo reception from a range of 1500 miles is just 60 minutes. 

But for a small-interconnected network of fixed shore-based listening stations, the 

sweep rate would be an ocean per hour.5

What the Navy heard shortly afterward at the seminal Project Hartwell 

summer study proved equally exciting, and given the outbreak of the Korean 

War on 25 June 1950, very timely. The Hartwell group disclosed that lowfrequency research suggested the feasibility of the shore detection ranges of at 

least 500 miles in the case of diesel-driven snorkeling submarines.

By all accounts, the Hartwell summer study marked the beginning of 

the SOSUS project. It also marked a new postwar phase in the evolution of 

the naval scientific dialogue. The Hartwell gathering at MIT demonstrated 

the potential of wartime cultural translation taken to the second power: the 

creation of an intellectual and creative critical mass.6

Along the way, cultural translators provided a very personal way of 

promoting interaction on ocean problems vital to the national defense. 

These translators, working in concert, facilitated the sharing of experiences 

and perspectives among scientists and naval personnel, no easy feat given 

the cultural and ideological distance that separated these professional 

groups. Translators made possible, in a fundamental way, that confluence 

of seemingly random personal, professional, and cultural experiences that 

broke down barriers and triggered both effective collaboration and amazing 

innovation. The war offered many examples, from the bathythermograph, 

to the proximity fuse, to the discovery of both acoustic shadow zones and 

the temperature microstructure of the ocean. For a time, Project Hartwell 

physically and intellectually took its participants out of their routines and 

away from the daily effort to validate their activity in ways professionally 

accepted.

Zacharias and the project leaders mixed and focused expectations, 

experience, talents, interests, hobbies, and ambitions in the name of the 
54 Providing the Means of War

national defense common denominator. In the process, they created for 

a brief time in the summer of 1950 a bisociative constellation of naval, 

industrial, and scientific talent, with potential well beyond the wartime 

experience. They permitted those involved to see the new for the first 

time and the old from very unfamiliar angles. Fueled by the Cold War 

and facilitated by the availability of extraordinary postwar resources, 

Hartwell created a prototypical innovative environment that could take 

advantage of numbers, talent, and diversity, with the throttle wide open. 

This collective effort clearly surpassed anything wartime translators might 

have accomplished in their related but discreet efforts before 1945. 

In one of their most innovative moments, Hartwell participants 

made the leap from human voice transmission analysis (the telephone 

application) to ocean global surveillance. Shortly before the group met, 

Hartwell participant Ralph Potter, Director of Sound Transmission at Bell 

Telephone Laboratories, together with his colleague, David Winston, had 

developed a method of acoustically fingerprinting low-frequency sound 

signals as a by-product of the telephone company’s analysis of human 

vocal patterns.

Thanks to Hartwell and in cooperation with the Navy’s Submarine 

Development Group 2 in New London, the two scientists explored the 

unique acoustic regularities and rhythms of snorkeling submarines. Motor, 

engine, and propeller operation in these boats produced a natural cadence, 

manifesting itself as line components in the emitted signal. With their voice 

analysis technology, the Bell Lab scientists discovered that they could both 

detect submarines at a great distance and actually identify the target as a 

particular ship or class of vessel. Each submarine, it seemed, had its own 

distinctive acoustic signature.

These developments released the new and unexpected naval potential 

captive in Ewing’s discovery of the deep sound channel so many years 

earlier. Thus, while MIT brought the Navy, industry, and science together 

under one roof, the Hartwell environment permitted scientists to find a 

point of intersection for three significant and simultaneous lines of inquiry: 

Ewing’s sound channel, sound and voice analysis at Bell, and the need to 

address the Soviet submarine threat perceived by the Navy. This process 

clearly went far beyond the kind of cultural translation employed by 

scientists during the war. The Hartwell-enhanced dialogue on these issues 

quickly brought together critical talent, promoted interaction between 

diverging communities on multiple levels of ability and interest, and rapidly 

produced concrete results.

As Hartwell concluded, both the Chief of Naval Operations and the 

scientific community realized well the possibilities of low-frequency 
sosus, the navy, and bell labs 55

underwater sound and the deep sound channel phenomenon. In the autumn 

of 1950, Mervin Kelly entered into discussions with Admiral Forrest 

Sherman, which resulted in Office of Naval Research Contract 210–00 of 

12 December with the Western Electric arm of AT&T. This arrangement 

provided for a thorough research program in underwater sound with an 

emphasis on the detection and classification of low-frequency sound 

radiation from submarines. Bell Telephone immediately began a program 

very similar to that already undertaken by Maurice Ewing and Columbia 

University on Bermuda.

Bell’s first SOSUS laboratory, complete with cable-borne and deepocean listening devices, opened in 1950 on Sandy Hook and monitored the 

New York City Harbor traffic with hydrophones installed three miles off 

shore and in only forty-two feet of water. The company planned to set up 

its first southern laboratory in Bermuda, but, in the summer of 1951, opted 

instead for Eleuthera, the site of Ewing’s wartime operation, about 250 

miles off Florida’s Atlantic coast.

Shortly after the contract signing, Bell Telephone Laboratories 

submitted a report outlining the general details of their new low frequency 

analyzer, a production model that promised both submarine detection and 

classification. Called low frequency analysis and recording, or LOFAR, the 

new technique and its hardware emerged from research conducted by Potter 

and Winston. Bell Labs delivered this product of the Hartwell-enhanced 

dialogue to the Navy on 2 May 1951, less than ten months after the MIT 

meeting concluded.

As the significance of LOFAR emerged, a committee commissioned 

by the National Academy of Sciences and the original Hartwell group met 

at Columbia University. They lobbied for the creation of a single scientific 

entity to investigate the defense applications of underwater sound as 

discussed in their summer study report of the previous year. They wanted a 

central laboratory to reside at Columbia and asked the Navy for $10 million 

of seed money. While the envisioned central underwater sound laboratory 

never came about, the Chief of Naval Operations saw possibilities in the 

centralizing concept and provided a more modest amount to finance what 

became known as Columbia’s Hudson Laboratory.

The revelation of Bell’s low frequency analyzer inclined those in the 

Navy to live with two entities rather than one. They did not want to interfere 

with the remarkably quick and productive work at Bell Telephone nor 

retard the Hartwell momentum. Thus, next to Ewing’s Bermuda operation, 

two official projects existed to explore deep ocean sound and surveillance. 

Navy contracts for Project Michael covered the Hudson Laboratory activity 

supporting ocean science and their efforts in low frequency sound, and the 
56 Providing the Means of War

code name, Product Jezebel, veiled the commercial effort at Bell that focused 

exclusively on developing an undersea surveillance system.

Both activities drew their funding from the Office of Naval Research 

and the Bureau of Ships. Within days of delivery, LOFAR went to sea 

onboard the submarine U.S.S. Halfbeak, the SS–522, in an area adjacent to 

Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

The device recorded the signature of the SS–522, both onboard and 

at Bell’s Sandy Hook facility, confirming the potential of the system and 

suggesting greater possibilities in deeper water. If the Sandy Hook station 

could manage a valuable analysis from data taken in forty-two feet of water, 

the sound channel depths off of Eleuthera and Bermuda held much greater 

promise.

It took Bell roughly one month to obtain British permission to extend 

the project to Bermuda. In July, three hydrophones went into the water 

at forty feet to compare with the installation at Sandy Hook. Two more 

went down to 960 feet, and the last penetrated to 4,000 feet, the axis of the 

Atlantic deep sound channel. By October, the data Bell had received and 

discussions with the Committee on Undersea Warfare brought a general 

vote of confidence in the National Academy of Sciences.

Deploying Michael and Jezebel products came under the code name 

Project Caesar. The Navy and Western Electric began the preparations for 

installing Caesar’s first general listening devices and stations in 1952 under 

the phase code-named Caesar I. The first Caesar station or naval facility 

(NAVFAC), NAVFAC Charlie, was built in 1954 at Ramey Air Force Base, 

ninety miles west of San Juan, Puerto Rico. It began effective listening 

in February 1955, the beginning of SOSUS operation. As knowledge and 

experience increased, the initial requests from the CNO for six stations 

continued to grow in number over the next dozen years through Caesar 

phases 2–A, 2–B, 3, and 4. The Navy initiated the final first generation 

installation phase, Caesar IV, in 1961.7

Projects Jezebel and Caesar, both important Cold War priorities, provide 

a vivid illustration of the vitality and creativity that can drive a joint research 

and development effort. Crucial to this process is establishing a comfort level 

achieved by cultural translation enhanced through bisociation. Before the 

first postwar decade had concluded, the professional dialogue between the 

Navy and the ocean sciences seemed mature, completely natural, and richly 

productive, indeed, almost second nature to naval personnel and industrial 

scientists, as well as those trained in the academic ivory tower.
sosus, the navy, and bell labs 57

Notes

1

 The thesis of this paper, the analytical framework presented, and the 

supporting factual material came from the author’s book, An Ocean in 

Common: American Naval Officers, Scientists, and the Ocean Environment

(College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 2001). See especially 

chapters 11–13 on World War II and the maturation of the “dialogue,” as 

well as chapter 16 on SOSUS. Detailed sources are provided. 2

 The concept of bisociation was conceived and first used by Arthur 

Koestler in his work, The Act of Creation (New York: Arkana-Penguin 

Books, 1989). In that work, he pointed out that “. . . bisociative shock 

often has the effect of making . . . implicit rules explicit, of suddenly 

focusing awareness on aspects of experience which had been unverbalized, 

unconsciously implied, taken for granted; so that a familiar and unnoticed 

aspect of a phenomenon . . . is suddenly perceived at an unfamiliar 

and significant angle. Discovery often means simply the uncovering of 

something which has always been there but was hidden from the eye by the 

blinkers of habit.”

3

 Gary E. Weir, Forged in War: The Naval Industrial Complex and 

American Submarine Construction, 1940–1961 (Washington, D.C.: 

Brasseys, 1998), chapter 6; Weir, An Ocean in Common, chapters 14–18. 4 RADM J. A. Furer, Memorandum for Files, 27 August 1943, box 

4, Coordinator of Scientific Research and Development General 

Correspondence, RG298, National Archives; Ingram to VCNO

Communications, 21 July 1943; Iselin to Ingram, 13 July 1943; Ingram to 

Iselin, 2 August 1943; Maurice Ewing, “Long Distance Transmission of 

Underwater Sound,” 12 July 1943, File Cabinet 3, Drawer D, File: SOFAR

Original Proposal, Office Papers of William Maurice Ewing, Creighton 

A. Burke, and J. Lamar Worzel, Institute for Geophysics, Pickle Research 

Campus Warehouse, University of Texas (UT) at Austin. When Worzel and 

Ewing first established the existence of the sound channel they did not call 

the concept SOFAR. Worzel preferred LORASTO for Long Range Sound 

Transmission in the Oceans. However, the Bureau of Ships had its own idea 

for a name. Thus the selection of SOFAR. Recollections of J. Lamar Worzel, 

[cover letter dated] 10 December 1980, “Sofar—Sonic Fixing and Ranging,” 

39–54, Oral History Collection of Marie Tharp, South Nyack, N.Y. 5

 Frederick V. Hunt, “New Concepts for Acoustic Detection at Very 

Long Ranges [Bombshell Report],” Fifth Undersea Symposium, 15–16 

May 1950.

6

 “The Hartwell Project,” by Dr. Jerrold R. Zacharias, MIT, 9–10 

May 1951, Naval Studies Board Archive, National Academy of Sciences, 
58 Providing the Means of War

Washington, D.C. Project Hartwell, MIT: “A Report on Security of Overseas 

Transport,” 21 Sep 1950, volumes 1 and 2, Post 1 Jan 46 Command File 

[general descriptive material including the quote on a summer study group 

as the essential approach; the balance of the report as of this writing is still 

classified Secret], Momsen to Distribution List with attachment, 26 January 

1951, file 5, series 2, box 7, Submarines/Undersea Warfare Division, U.S. Navy 

Operational Archive; ASW Surveillance, Phase I, Volume II Appendix A—

History of ASW Surveillance, 28 June 1968, Edward Dahlrymple File Cabinet 

1, drawer 1, Bldg W–1/Rm 1667, TRW Corporation Underwater Surveillance 

Office Archive, McLean, Va.; Weir, Forged in War, 133–38. 7

 Memorandum from the Special Panel on Low Frequency Sonar to the 

Committee on Undersea Warfare, National Research Council, 20 October 

1950, National Academy of Sciences Naval Studies Board Archive; Iselin 

to ONR, 10 June 1949; Iselin to A. A. Brown, Operations Evaluation Group, 

29 July 1949; Brown to Iselin, 27 July 1949, box 11; Hart to Ryder, 19 May 

1950; Ryder to Commanding Officer, Branch Office of Naval Research, 

12 May 1950, box 12, Office of the Director; Sound Recordings of the 

U.S.S. Amberjack, 5 March 1949, WHOI Audograph Soundwriter Disk 

Collection 1949–1950. For some background on the WHOI technique for 

using explosives as sound sources, see John Brackett Hersey, Essays III 

[a handwritten text in a computation book], box 9 [unprocessed], John 

Brackett Hersey papers, Data Library/Archive, Woods Hole Oceanographic 

Institution; Gaylord P. Harnwell, “Underwater Detection,” 25 April 1947; 

Report on Project Kayo Conference, New London Connecticut, 10–11 

January 1950, Naval Studies Board Archive, National Academy of Sciences; 

Benson to ComSubLant, “SS vs SS Operations,” 22 July 1949; Benson to 

ComSubLant, Kayo Report Number 3, 15 October 1949, series 5, file A 

16–3 (3), box 20, Project Kayo Incoming Correspondence, Submarines/

Undersea Warfare Division; Hamilton interview, 15 September 1993; Worzel 

interview, 22 August 1990, NHC Oral Histories, U.S. Navy Operational 

Archive; Interview with Captain Joseph Kelly by David K. Allison and 

John Pitts, 9 November 1984, Navy Laboratories Archive, David Taylor 

Research Center, Carderock, Md. (These records are now resident at the 

U.S. Navy Operational Archive); U.S.S. San Pablo File, 1949–1950, box 

139, W. Maurice Ewing papers, Center for American History Archive, 

UT, Austin; Worzel to Hamilton, 24 January 1950; Ewing to Hamilton, 28 

March 1950; Hamilton to Ewing, 12 April 1950, File: SOFAR Hamilton, 

File Cabinet 3, drawer D, Institute for Geophysics Archive, Pickle Research 

Facility, UT, Austin; Pegram to ONR, 29 May 1950 [with attached contract 

renewal application for N6 onr 27124 and NR 350 013]; Procurement 

Justification form for contract N6 onr 27124, 28 December 1950; Edward T. 
sosus, the navy, and bell labs 59

Miller, San Pablo SOFAR Cruise—New London to Trinidad and Trinidad 

to Newfoundland Legs, 8 November 1950; Proposal for Contract Renewal: 

N6onr271, Task Order XIII, for the year May 1, 1951–April 30, 1952; 

Smith to Hamilton, 6 November 1950; Code 418 [Smith] to Code 100, 13 

September 1950 [N6 onr 27124]; Hamilton to Smith, 12 September 1950; 

Contract Clearance Memorandum, between ONR and Columbia University, 

8 June 1950; Procurement Justification form for contract N6 onr 27124, 5 

May 1950, box 3 of 5, accession #62–A–3303, Office of Naval Research, 

RG298, Washington National Records Center, Suitland, Md. Project Jezebel: 

Final Project Jezebel: Final Report on Developmental Contract NObsr57093, 1 January 1961 [covering the period 1 November 1951 to 1 January 

1961]; ASW Surveillance, Phase 1, Volume II, Appendix A—History of 

ASW Surveillance, 28 June 1968, TRW Underwater Surveillance Office 

Archive, McLean, Va.; Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, vol. 6 

(Washington, D.C.: U.S. Naval Historical Center, 1976), 302–03.

Weapons, “Weak” States, and the 

Military Contract System: The Case of RAND 

and the Air Force, 1945–1950 

Martin J. Collins

In November 1947, Project RAND, situated at the Douglas Aircraft 

Co. under a 1946 Army Air Forces contract, had been underway just over 

a year and a half. A draft progress report noted that it was impossible to 

convey “the intangible benefits of the project—the intensive thinking of 

more and more civilians on military problems, the spread of a feeling of 

personal responsibility for national security among industrialists as well 

as scientists and technologists. The test of these gains can come only in 

the future. Still, if modern weapons have wiped out the sharp distinction 

between the military and civilian in time of war, so in time of peace 

such a differentiation has become outdated. RAND is in line with this 

development and thus by its very existence aids the nation to face the 

dangers ahead.” 1

In its first years, RAND did not focus on the problem for which it 

would become well-known in the 1950s: nuclear weapons strategy. Rather 

the new project was created in response to a widely shared perception 

among military, scientific, and industrial leaders: that in the unsettled 

international landscape of the postwar period researching, developing, and 

procuring modern weapons required more active, intimate connections 

between military and civilian institutions. In this paper, I will examine 

two strategies used by RAND and the Air Force as they confronted the 

challenges of reworking the boundary between the military and the civilian 

in the period immediately after World War II. Each strategy had to contend 

with two firmly rooted characteristics of American political culture: the 

distinction between private markets and government and the decentralized 

and pluralistic character of decision making in the military and in national 

political forums. The production and use of modern weapons seemed to 
62 Providing the Means of War

call for integration and coordination among public and private institutions, 

yet political tradition provided relatively ineffective tools to achieve these 

ends. In the American system during and after World War II, research, 

development, and production of weapons were points of creative tension 

for defining the market-government divide, much as the large corporation 

and concentrated economic power had been in previous decades. The 

sources of science and technology—industry and academia—were part 

of the market, autonomous of the state, in theory. Linking these sources 

of research, development, and production to the aims of the Air Force 

required strategies for coordination and direction of the market, and equally 

important, a revamping of Air Force managerial culture to implement 

these strategies. In the several years after World War II, as the Cold War 

landscape took shape, leaders in and outside the military shared a sense 

that modern war might require specific but limited state interventions 

to coordinate the work of crucial sectors of American society. RAND 

symbolized a new and widely considered question of the postwar period: 

How could the institutional pluralism and antistatist strains of the American 

political landscape be reconciled with the military interest in new weapons? 

The former tended toward the distribution of power and resources; the 

latter, toward a strong concentration of power and resources in the military. 

Strategies of nationalization or rigid central control were not possible. Other 

approaches that balanced pluralism against statist control had to be crafted.

The status and possible uses of the military contract were central to this 

debate. The contract was the ideal instrument for the American system of 

politics and weapons procurement. It connected the public with the private, 

the military services with industry and academia to acquire a discrete 

service or device. Yet, in principle, the contract maintained and respected 

the historic distinction between separate military and civil spheres. The 

military contract, as exemplified by its use in World War II, was at once a 

technical, legal, and political tool, embedded in a system of congressional 

appropriations, military program offices, and private firms. In the postwar 

period, RAND, Air Force, and other leaders considered whether the contract 

system was suited to the new emphasis on preparedness and weapons 

innovation. Could the decentralized and sometimes ad hoc character of 

military contracting provide the strong managerial coordination of national 

resources to meet the challenges of a new world? 

RAND’s founding exemplified this debate. The Army Air Forces 

typically used contracts to acquire hardware with specific characteristics; 

in the case of RAND, the service expanded the function of the contract to 

create a new institution, with no specified end product, to assist service 

leadership in planning. 
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 63

In the period 1945–1950, RAND was emblematic of the exploratory 

and contingent ways universities and industry might be joined to the state 

through the adaptation of the contract system and through the creation of 

new institutions. At different times, different aspects of the problem of 

managing the procurement of weapons across the public-private divide 

were regarded as more pressing, shaping RAND’s institutional objectives 

and its relations with the Air Force. From 1945 to 1947, RAND represented 

a trade association strategy, linking the aircraft industry with the Air 

Force in ways reminiscent of the associational models of state-business 

relations developed by Herbert Hoover in 1920s when he was secretary of 

Commerce. From 1947 into the early 1950s, RAND embodied what I call 

a knowledge strategy for addressing the problem of state-market relations. 

RAND sought to make the Air Force (and the sets of technical and social 

relations associated with research, development, and weapons production) 

a domain of phenomena amenable to study. Knowledge concerning this 

domain, legitimated by such quasi-scientific practices as systems analysis 

(a RAND invention), could ameliorate and perhaps replace institutional 

politics within the Air Force and among the Air Force, industry, and 

academia by rationalizing choices or claims about military operations, 

practices, organization, or doctrine—any aspect of the military and its role 

in American life. Knowledge could thus be an indirect way of coordinating 

and directing Air Force relations with the market.

The timing and fate of these strategies were intertwined with the 

contentious discussions between President Harry S. Truman and Congress 

over postwar preparedness and defense appropriations. A leading issue was 

the reorganization of the military services into a new, unified structure. 

The tensions associated with the creation and early evolution of the 

National Military Establishment—the precursor to what would become 

the Department of Defense—highlighted the importance of defining the 

relationship between the military and the civilian. So did a crucial subplot 

of the preparedness tussles: the decades-long policy vacillations over 

government support for the aircraft and airline industries, the mainstays of 

military and civil aviation. The war had created broad public and political 

support for the air power—the shorthand term for maintaining a strong 

military and civilian capability in aviation. Air power advocates pushed 

for broad, governmental reviews of national air policy. President Truman 

responded by establishing in 1947 the Presidential Air Policy Commission, 

chaired by Thomas Finletter (who later became secretary of the Air Force); 

Congress followed suit by convening the Congressional Air Policy Board, 

chaired by Senator Owen Brewster. The service and industry leaders 

prominent in RAND, such as Commanding General Henry “Hap” Arnold 
64 Providing the Means of War

and Douglas Aircraft president Donald Douglas, served as members of or 

testified before these boards and enthusiastically supported preparedness 

through air power and increased budgets.

But the strategies articulated through RAND (and embodied in the 

RAND contract) highlighted a different thread of preparedness ideology. 

Appropriations and contracts, in this view, were perhaps a necessary but 

not sufficient prerequisite for crafting a working relationship between the 

service and industry. More cooperative managerial approaches, grounded 

in rational decision making, were required to stimulate, select, and develop 

the new technologies of war. The unruly process of interest group politics 

associated with military appropriations and procurement might subvert this 

need for deliberative decision making. 

In the political science and sociological literature, this feature of American politics fits into a model of statebuilding called “weak” and “strong” 

states. Strong states are defined as those most capable of acting autonomously, formulating and pursuing goals independently of and, in some 

cases, in opposition to, the preferences of societal interest groups. Weak 

states, on the other hand, are permeated by pressure groups vying to influence 

and shape state decisions and policy. This latter model roughly describes the 

American political and bureaucratic system. The RAND strategies described 

above can be viewed as a means to temper and direct the many contesting 

interest groups associated with the politics of weapons procurement.2

In the period 1945–1947, the key actors were Commanding General of 

the Army Air Forces Hap Arnold and Edward L. Bowles, an MIT professor 

who served as a consultant to Secretary of War Henry Stimson and to Arnold 

during the war. Two factors shaped their conception of RAND. One, as 

described by Michael Sherry in his analysis of the Air Force at war’s end, 

was an ideology of preparedness. Arnold was the principal Air Force official 

in articulating and promoting this ideology. To Arnold, a commitment to 

preparedness seemed like a natural extension of wartime experience, rapid 

technological obsolescence and innovation were the order of the day. The 

long-range bomber and the atomic bomb, exemplars of this technological 

process, augured an era of devastating, near-instantaneous modes of attack. 

National survival, Arnold concluded, required the assiduous cultivation 

of technology to stay at the winning end of this dynamic. Preparedness, 

to Arnold and to many military and political leaders, entailed a national 

commitment to a large air force capable of projecting power worldwide and a 

pattern of cooperation with industry and universities that ensured the timely, 

efficient development of new technologies.3

Arnold and Bowles also had more specific motivations in crafting a 

trade association strategy for RAND: competition with the other services 
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 65

for securing postwar relations with industry and academia, but more 

especially a concern about Vannevar Bush and his advocacy of a role for 

elite science supportive of, yet autonomous from the military. Bush had 

been head of the wartime Office of Scientific Research and Development 

and, in the postwar years, was a preeminent voice for protecting the 

independence of academic science in its relations with the military. Bush’s 

influential views ran both parallel and counter to those of Arnold and 

Bowles. All these postwar leaders believed in a managerial solution for 

balancing the public and private stakes that were thrown into relief by the 

politics of preparedness and weapons procurement. Bush pursued such 

a managerial tactic as he lobbied for one of his most important postwar 

achievements, the Research and Development Board (RDB). Created as a 

component of the National Military Establishment in 1947, it was designed 

to provide top-level, cross-service management of all weapons programs 

and research. Bush meant to use the RDB to protect university-based 

science from being overwhelmed by military money and interests.

 Arnold and Bowles perceived the same need for grand managerial 

mechanisms but had a diametrically opposite objective. For Arnold, the 

wartime experience highlighted the Air Force’s emergence as a more complex 

institution with a more ambitious mission. That experience also created 

a more complex external market with which the Air Force had to work, 

involving universities and industry. The solution to the problem of the 

marketplace was not to form a pact of equals, as suggested by Bush, but to 

craft relations in which the service had control over those external resources 

deemed critical to its work. To Arnold, this was part of the meaning of Air 

Force independence. Independence meant not just independent standing as 

a service but control over market resources. Each was essential if the Air 

Force was to have the authority to carry out its perceived mission. Critical 

to this mission was the production of technologies that supported strategic 

air power. Autonomy for the institutions of science as Bush defined it 

could possibly deny the Air Force the ability to procure and use resources it 

thought were essential for developing new weapons. The strategy of the trade 

association devised by Arnold and Bowles was practical; it was to ensure the 

procurement of new weapons.

Arnold was primarily responsible for defining this context of ideology 

and institutional interests; Bowles was responsible for crafting RAND 

to meet these ends. With Arnold retiring from the Army Air Forces in 

February 1946, a month before RAND was formally initiated by contract 

under Douglas Aircraft Co., Bowles’s own distinctive views on the postwar 

organization of science and technology gave RAND its specific formulation. 

To begin, Bowles drew upon personal and institutional relationships forged 
66 Providing the Means of War

during the war. The core of RAND leadership was provided by Arthur 

Raymond, chief engineer at Douglas, and his assistant Frank Collbohm. 

Both were members of an extensive technical consultant corps that Bowles 

led during the war under the auspices of Stimson’s and Arnold’s offices.

Through special projects that the three worked on, such as the 

modification of B–29s for attack on Japan and a survey of guided missile 

activity in the Air Force, Bowles, Raymond, and Collbohm began to 

reconsider the relationship of the service to industry. During the war, the 

purchase of commodities through contract had been the backbone of the 

Air Force-industry relationship. The experience of the war, as Bowles 

interpreted it, demonstrated that industry and the military were joined 

in a common corporate enterprise, not just as supplier and purchaser of 

commodities. The shared corporate goal was preparing for and fighting 

a war. The military activities of strategy and operations and the industry 

activities of development and production were functions of an extended 

corporation with the military as top management. Planning also implied 

rigor in reaching managerial decisions and required, in Bowles’s view, a 

new intellectual discipline whose subject was the study of the new warfare: 

society against society, in an indefinite struggle, each equipped with 

weapons capable of devastating destruction.

But to implement this vision, Bowles and Arnold believed the service 

would have to recast its own organization, moving decisions on research, 

development, and procurement from the Air Technical Services Command 

to the air staff. To this end, in late 1945, Bowles helped establish the 

position of deputy chief of staff for Research and Development, at the time 

the third-ranking position on the air staff. Curtis LeMay assumed the office, 

with the aim of rationalizing the service’s internal handling of research, 

development, and procurement as well as relations with universities and 

industry, including RAND.

The notion that the military and industry comprised an extended 

corporation had a certain rhetorical elegance. But Bowles and LeMay 

confronted limits in translating this idea into a set of new institutional 

practices. Direct control of industry was neither feasible nor desired. 

American political culture suggested more indirect methods. The path 

through the problem was the concept of shared planning. To be partners in 

planning was to be partners in management.4

Arnold, Bowles, and the Douglas Co. moved quickly after the war 

to reconfigure the service-industry relationship. On 1 October 1945, at 

Hamilton Field near Los Angeles, Arnold, Bowles, Donald Douglas, Arthur 

Raymond (chief engineer at Douglas), and his assistant Frank Collbohm 

met to lay the groundwork for RAND. Bowles summarized the results 
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 67

of the meeting a few days later in a memo to the new Secretary of War 

Robert Patterson. The focus of the meeting was a specific research project 

proposed by Raymond: an intercontinental ballistic missile. This project 

would eventuate in RAND’s first published study, Preliminary Design of 

a World Circling Spaceship. The missile idea arose from several factors. 

These included Arnold’s interest in guided missiles as critical to the 

future of the Air Force and the Douglas Co.’s interest in preparing for a 

new business opportunity. Equally important, though, was the fact that an 

undeveloped technology provided much more latitude for reconfiguring 

industry-military relations. The principle of joint planning and management 

could be implemented from the start.5

RAND’s principal purposes were to enable the Army Air Force and 

the aerospace industry to plan jointly future weapons development and 

to construct a new social site in which professionals from industry and 

universities could dedicate themselves to service problems. The project’s 

placement in industry was calculated. While Douglas possessed the 

contract, the intent was that RAND would serve as a means for joint 

planning between the service and a significant part of the industry.6

 The problem that received the most initial attention was articulating 

a specific coordinating mechanism. The thought of Bowles, LeMay, 

Donald Douglas, and Arnold (who remained involved despite retirement) 

was that the Douglas Co., as a preeminent member of the industry, could 

provide coordination under its auspices. But Donald Douglas at first chose 

a conventional means by which to organize his industrial partners. RAND 

let subcontracts to Boeing, Northrop, and North American Aviation to 

study selected technical aspects of rockets, satellites, and long-distance 

bombers. Bowles recognized that this approach was inadequate to meet 

joint planning and coordination goals of RAND. In the summer and fall of 

1946, with LeMay’s and Arnold’s backing, he pressed Douglas to establish 

a more adequate mechanism. The result was the RAND Advisory Council. 

The Council included J.H. Kindelberger, president of North American; 

J.K. Northrop, president of Northrop Aviation; C.L. Egtvedt, president of 

Boeing; and Douglas. The group met in November. The intention was for 

this body, with staffing from their respective companies, to provide for 

industry coordination. Such an arrangement was not unprecedented. During 

the war, the industry, under Douglas’s leadership, organized itself into 

National Aircraft War Production Council. The RAND board summarized 

its mission in a report to Bowles:

The more industry knows about military planning and the more military planners 

know about what is technically feasible, the greater will be the proportion of airplanes and missiles that turn out to meet squarely a military need and the smaller 
68 Providing the Means of War

will be the proportion of duds. It follows directly that the nation will get more protection per dollar spent. This is the essence of the thought back of RAND. . . .[i]t is 

expected that the collaboration of others in the scientific and industrial world will 

be fully marshaled, on a selective basis behind the project. The military felt that this 

joining of forces could best be worked out by the parties concerned. . . .7

The RAND Advisory Council sought to walk a fine line. The members 

recognized the benefits of integrated planning and cooperative management 

but they wished to retain their institutional autonomy. Regarding the 

industry gathering as a point of departure, Bowles arranged for the RAND 

Advisory Council to meet in late January 1947 the leading military brass 

and civilian leadership: Secretary of War Patterson, Secretary of Air 

Symington, Chief of Staff Eisenhower, and General Spaatz, Arnold’s 

successor as Commanding General.

This January meeting, seemingly filled with promise, was the high 

point of the effort to merge industry and the military through an ad 

hoc administrative mechanism. The RAND Council met periodically 

into early 1948. But within months of the Jaunary 1947 meeting service 

encouragement for the effort diminished. The new secretary of War, 

Kenneth Royall, forced Bowles out of his special consultant role in 

August 1947. An Air Force reorganization in October 1947, in response 

to unification, abolished LeMay’s post. But perhaps more important was 

that the need for a joint arrangement to plan research, development, and 

procurement was weak. No major new initiatives in guided missiles or 

strategic bombers were imminent under the restrained budgets of the period. 

In disbanding, members of the RAND council, it seems, decided that their 

interests were better served by the efforts of the Finletter Commission and 

Brewster committee. As with the associational experiments engineered by 

Herbert Hoover in the 1920s, the RAND Advisory Council was inadequate 

to the problems of both the service and the industry. The goal of RAND 

as an industry coordinating mechanism withered. By early 1948, RAND 

planned to depart Douglas and establish itself as a nonprofit corporation, a 

transformation that was accomplished in November 1948.

Despite the failure of the trade association strategy, the problem of 

structuring relations between the Air Force and science and technology 

remained. But the initiative for addressing this problem shifted from service 

advocates to RAND itself. Air Force leadership was too consumed with the 

challenges of unification to manage RAND actively. If RAND was to prosper, 

it would need to define a role for itself that the Air Force found worthwhile. 

RAND’s greatest resource was its growing cadre of disciplinary specialists, 

numbering near two hundred in 1948, with mathematicians, physical 

scientists, and engineers dominating, but including a small number of 
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 69

philosophers, social scientists, and economists. Frank Collbohm, RAND’s 

director, John Williams and Edward Paxson, both mathematicians, were 

instrumental in directing this resource toward the goals Arnold and Bowles 

had earlier articulated, but in a way that drew upon RAND’s strengths. 

A central component of Bowles’s approach had been to assert the value 

of regarding the military, in all its functions, as a domain for scientific 

research. Bowles had no specific idea of how this might be accomplished; 

he fashioned this possibility by extrapolating from his familiarity with the 

limited application of operations research to military tactical problems 

during World War II. Bowles envisioned this research activity only in 

the context of the trade association model. Research would be translated 

through the collective of industrial and service leadership; they would 

weigh its value and make decisions. In this way, research could contribute 

to the goal of coordinating and directing the Air Force’s relations with its 

external markets.

Collbohm, Williams, and Paxson sought to achieve this same end, but 

without the vehicle of an ad hoc trade association. They would have to 

define what constituted a military domain of research, what methods would 

be used for investigating and legitimating knowledge, and how to convey 

research findings to Air Force, other military, and political audiences. 

Knowledge itself and its presentation would be the vehicle for relating 

service leadership to its markets.

The transition from a trade association model to one in which the idea 

of the military as a domain of research and knowledge predominated is 

revealed in a 1949 discussion between Collbohm and H. Rowan Gaither, 

chair of RAND’s Board of Trustees and a prominent San Francisco lawyer. 

“The military,” Gaither ventured, “now is confronted with problems of the 

greatest complexity. They are no longer problems of simply hardware or 

training of personnel but they actually embrace all fields of knowledge, 

and the need to acquire this knowledge and assimilate it into the Military 

Establishment is greater in this period of our history than any other period. 

. . . Stating it in a functional way, the Military Establishment . . . must 

gear itself through some mechanism, some instrumentalities, for the rapid 

assimilation of knowledge which is available outside the Establishment.”8

RAND, in Gaither’s eyes, was such an instrumentality, a professional site 

for defining the relationship among knowledge and service interests.

But Collbohm and his associates had to develop a well-defined set 

of practices for investigating this research domain and choose a research 

project that would serve as exemplar of their methods. By mid- to late 1947, 

Paxson and Williams began to formulate the notion of “systems analysis.” 

Over the next couple of years, systems analysis was promoted to the Air 
70 Providing the Means of War

Force as RAND’s defining corporate product. This product was part reality, 

part hope. It was grounded in an extension of the mathematical techniques 

of operations research developed during the war but sought also to embrace 

the possibility, conveyed by Gaither, that all knowledge could be correlated 

and applied to military problems, preferably through some mathematical 

calculus.

RAND chose a carefully delimited problem for its first study, one 

central to the deliberations of service leaders as they grappled with the 

question of how to conduct a nuclear attack on the Soviet Union. Choosing 

a strategic bomber for the postwar period had perplexed service leaders 

since the close of the war, with the B–52 emerging as the troubled but 

leading candidate. RAND’s study, called the Strategic Bombing System 

Analysis and prepared by Paxson, investigated the question of what type of 

bomber could inflict the most damage on the Soviet Union, given a range of 

procurement budgets and of supplies of atomic bombs, in the period 1956–

60.9

 The conclusion was that an airplane, slower and less technologically 

advanced than the B–52 might fulfill strategic objectives more quickly 

and cheaply. Started in 1947, the study was presented at various stages of 

completion through 1949 into early 1950.

The study came at a crucial time for service leadership. Boeing’s 

problems with controlling the weight of the B–52 had brought the Air 

Force’s Board of Senior Officers—a body headed by the vice chief of 

staff and responsible for making decisions on major procurements—to the 

verge of re-advertising the contract to industry in 1949 and the first months 

of 1950. In the same period, the Joint Chiefs of Staff asked the Weapons 

Systems Evaluation Group and a committee headed by Lt. Gen. Hubert 

R. Harmon to review the Strategic Air Command’s plans for attacking the 

Soviet Union. For the Board of Senior Officers, these concurrent events 

raised the prospect of tumultuous contractor politics and emphasized 

the high stakes in selecting the right strategic bomber. The RAND study 

seemed to offer a means for sound decision-making and for negotiating a 

complex political situation.

Paxson and Collbohm had been briefing the study within the air staff 

beginning in late fall 1949 and to major industrial firms in the first months 

of 1950, provoking increasing interest and discussion. Collbohm in April 

1950, after a series of meetings with the Senior Officers Board, set down his 

perceptions on how RAND’s systems analysis was received. On one level 

the RAND report was a novel device for organizing discussion and defining 

issues. The Board of Senior Officers circulated the report throughout the 

service as well as to contractors as a means of organizing a consensus 

around the B–52 or the RAND airplane. On another level, the Senior 
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 71

Officers Board shared, temporarily, RAND’s own expansive sense of the 

possibilities of making the military and its activities a domain of research. 

The Board pressed RAND into examining, in Collbohm’s words, “the whole 

problem of the Air Force, to take some time to do some analytical work, 

and come back with recommendations as to what the Air Force should do 

in major policy planning for the period 1950 to 1960.” Some members of 

the board even wanted RAND to manage their numerous meetings with the 

service commands and contractors, to evaluate in their place the proposals 

put before them. In essence, the board accepted the premise of the RAND 

enterprise: the military had become a sufficiently complex domain that the 

application of scientific method was at a minimum an essential tool, if not 

something more, in making crucial decisions.

Air Force enthusiasm seemed to sober Collbohm. He recognized the 

limits of RAND’s competency and of its institutional savvy to operate in 

the intimate confines of service politics. He resisted the board’s offer. The 

urgency behind the board’s appeals to RAND were motivated substantially 

by the confluence of the problems with the B–52, the JCS reviews of SAC, 

and the relatively austere Truman budgets of 1948 to mid–1950. Under 

these conditions, making the right procurement decisions seemed to have 

higher stakes. With the flow of money generated by the Korean War, the 

interest in actively integrating RAND’s analytical tools into the work of the 

board diminished.

The preoccupations of elite planners in the period between the end of 

World War II and the start of the Korean War are now mostly forgotten. 

But the impassioned political debates over preparedness and organizing 

society for a generation-long effort to research, develop, and produce 

technologically advanced weapons gave rise to intense examination of 

the utility and value of traditional distinctions in American society—

the state and the market, the public and the private. The contract, in 

important ways, stood at the center of this conversation. As argued here, 

the ideology and politics of preparedness made research, development, 

and production of weapons and state-market relations central problems 

in the period 1945–1950. One response to these issues, as exemplified 

by the Finletter Commission and the Brewster committee, focused on the 

appropriation and allocation of federal monies through contract to industry 

and universities. But another response, exemplified by the RAND-Air Forceindustry case (and by Bush’s short-lived RDB), was to experiment with 

specific mechanisms for jointly planning technological innovation and for 

cooperative decision making. The trade association and knowledge strategies 

suggest that the challenge of weapons production could not be resolved 

solely through appropriations, interest group politics, and contracts. In this 
72 Providing the Means of War

thinking, contracts and military program offices needed to be subsumed 

into a larger, pan-institutional managerial framework, informed by rational, 

scientific analysis and planning. Arnold, Bowles, and other leaders felt 

that new inventions were required, at least during the period of restrained 

budgets before the Korean War, to organize planning between the Air 

Force and industry and to smooth the rough edges of a pluralistic political 

system. The demise of this point of view, in favor of a looser system of 

appropriations, program offices, and contracts, fundamentally shaped the 

procurement landscape of today.
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 73

Notes

1

 Draft in folder “War Effort—RAND Letters, 1944–03/48,” box 1, 

Edward L. Bowles papers (hereafter cited as ELB), National Air and Space 

Museum (NASM). These materials are duplicates of selected parts of the 

Bowles papers deposited in the Library of Congress. 2 On the relation of this literature to studies of the postwar national 

security establishment, see Aaron L. Friedberg, “Why Didn’t the United 

States Become a Garrison State?” International Security 16 (1992): 109–42. 

3

 The best treatment of Army Air Force postwar planning and ideology is 

Perry McCoy Smith, The Air Force Plans for Peace, 1943–1945 (Baltimore: 

Johns Hopkins University Press, 1970). Also important are Michael S. 

Sherry, Preparing for the Next War: American Plans for Postwar Defense, 

1941–45 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), and his The Rise 

of American Airpower: The Creation of Armageddon (New Haven: Yale 

University Press, 1987). On Arnold’s views, see “The Past Predicts the 

Future,” op. cit., n. 18. On Arnold and “air power,” see, for example, his 

address on NBC’s “The National Hour,” 6 January 1946, folder “12107—

PWP—Other Talks by H. H. Arnold . . . ,” box 1, ELB, NASM. Also see 

H. H. Arnold, Global Mission (New York: Harper, 1949), 612–15. On the 

early history of the Scientific Advisory Group and von Karman, see Thomas 

A. Sturm, The USAF Scientific Advisory Board: Its First Twenty Years, 1944–

1964 (Washington, D.C.: OAFH, 1986). 4

 The fullest expression of Bowles’s concept of planning and its relation 

to RAND is a memorandum to Secretary of Air Stuart Symington, 26 

November 1946, folder “War Effort—RAND—Symington . . . ,” box 1, 

ELB, NASM. 5

 The 1 October meeting is described in a Bowles letter to Patterson, 4 October 1945, folder “Background Data & Correpsondence on 

RAND . . . ,” box 1, ELB, NASM.

6

 See, for example, the exchange of letters between Bowles and Arnold 

in the fall of 1946, folder “War Effort—RAND Letters, 1944–03/48,” box 

1, ELB, NASM. A comprehensive history of big business in World War 

II has yet to be written; no extended account for the aerospace industry is 

available either. For broad outlines, see G. B. Simonson, ed., The History 

of the American Aircraft Industry (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1968); 

and John Bell Rae, Climb to Greatness: The American Aircraft Industry, 

1920–1960 (Cambridge: 1968). Arnold himself had looked to the business 

community as a managerial and productive resource for the Air Force 

during and after the war, including as a source of management models. For 

hints on Arnold’s and the Air Force’s contact with the business community 
74 Providing the Means of War

during the war, see Donald M. Nelson, Arsenal of Democracy: The Story 

of American War Production (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 

1946), 231–38. An interesting interpretive account of the role of the aircraft 

industry in the war is in R. J. Overy, The Air War, 1939–1945 (New York: 

Stein and Day, 1981), 149–84; for example, Overy states: “The recruitment 

of administrators demonstrated a critical difference between Allied and 

Axis powers in the degree to which industry was co-opted into the work 

of organizing aircraft production. One obvious advantage in wedding 

industrial experience existed between the two situations. In the capitalist 

west this choice was an obvious one. A war in defense of an economic 

system represented by a political structure sympathetic to capitalism 

involved industrialists as closely as it did soldiers. Thus in America the 

senior administrators of the war economy were almost all drawn from 

large-scale industry; industry cooperated closely with the authorities and 

created its own administration in the National Aircraft War Production 

Council.” (p. 160). After the war, the problem of the aircraft industry and 

the state continued as a key concern not only for the Army Air Forces but 

also for Congress and Truman. It was the subject of congressional studies 

as well as a presidential commission, “The U.S. President’s Air Policy 

Commission.” The commission was formed in mid–1947 and issued its 

report the following year, Survival in the Air Age (Washington, D.C.: 

GPO, 1948). As the title suggests, the question of air policy generally 

was subsumed under the concerns of national security. The assumptions 

upon which Project RAND was established also guided the deliberations 

of the commission: the aircraft industry was a vital national security 

resource that should be actively supported and managed by government. 

In the commission’s work it is also evident that the problem of university 

research and the state was ancillary to the development and production 

needs of the industry and the military.

On the ideology of business and its attitudes toward state in this period, 

see also Barton Bernstein, “The Removal of War Production Board Controls 

on Business, 1944–1946,” Business History Review 39 (1965): 243-

260; and his “The Debate on Industrial Reconversion: The Protection of 

Oligopoly and Military Control of the Economy,” The American Journal of 

Economics and Sociology (1966/67): 159–72; as well as Richard Polenberg, 

War and Society: The United States, 1941–1945 (New York: 1972), 10–19. 7 Letter from Donald Douglas to Bowles, 18 December 1946, with 

attached Report, folder “WE—RAND Dec. 1946,” box 1, ELB, NASM.

8

 “Transcript of Conference—H. Rowan Gaither, F. R. Collbohm, J. R. 

Goldstein,” 1 September 1949, pp. 1–2, “Dictaphone Transcriptions, 1949” 

folder, Collbohm papers, RAND.
Weapons, “Weak” States, Military Contract System 75

9 Strategic Bombing Systems Analysis, 1950, RAND Publication R-173. 

This report is still classified Secret-Restricted Data. The contents of the 

report, though, have been gleaned from RAND’s periodic progress reports 

to the Air Staff, RAND’s internal newsletter, Collbohm’s dictaphone 

transcriptions of meetings, and Air Force records on evaluation of the study.

Part II

The McNamara Legacy

Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 

1959–1968: The McNamara Legacy

Walter S. Poole

The Kennedy administration came to power convinced that national 

strategy had become outdated and the acquisition process functioned poorly. 

The proof seemed abundant: an alleged ”missile gap” that favored the 

Soviet Union; the irrelevance of placing “main but not sole reliance” on 

nuclear weapons when confronting wars of national liberation; the failure 

of the 1958 Department of Defense (DoD) Reorganization Act to end 

interservice bickering and duplication; and horror stories of cost overruns 

and mismanaged programs, coupled with growing congressional criticism 

of contract administration (especially the cost-plus-fixed-fee method).

Robert S. McNamara, who assumed the position of secretary of Defense 

on 21 January 1961, had a very specific understanding of his role as the 

department’s senior executive. First, he meant to help define the objectives 

of U.S. foreign policy and appraise established and emerging threats. Then, 

in what McNamara deemed his most important function, he sought to 

articulate a national strategy and translate that strategy into force level 

and weapon system requirements. Finally, he would oversee the drafting 

of specifications for those systems, which, for the most part, would be 

done several bureaucratic echelons down. During his first weeks in office, 

McNamara made major innovations. He added a programming function to 

bridge the gap between planning and budgeting, thereby creating a Planning 

Programming Budgeting System (PPBS) to integrate strategy, force levels, 

and budget requirements. McNamara also created a five-year defense plan, 

which projected force levels eight years and costs five years ahead while 

providing for annual program change proposals. He made extensive and 

increasing use of civilian analysts to apply cost-effectiveness calculations 

in making force-planning decisions. McNamara embraced systems analysis 

as the most rational, mathematically rigorous means of choosing among 
80 Providing the Means of War

plausible alternatives. He and his analysts adopted a two-part methodology 

for breaking down problems into what systems analysts judged to be their 

component parts. First, they developed alternative solutions to a problem. 

Then they carried out a systematic cost-benefit analysis of each alternative. 

As McNamara saw it, there had been very little analysis of how small shifts 

in specifications could affect the utility of weapon systems. There were many 

cases, he was convinced, where slight modifications at little cost could greatly 

improve performance.1

When considering McNamara’s legacy, it is important to remember 

that the ready availability of funds during the early years of McNamara’s 

tenure as secretary of Defense provided unique circumstances for the 

acquisition community and the Department of Defense as a whole. Shortly 

after taking office, President Kennedy lifted Eisenhower’s fiscal ceiling 

on defense expenditures, hiking the defense budget from about $43 billion 

to $50 billion; Congress readily complied. As a result, there were none of 

the interruptions or stretch-outs in production that bedeviled subsequent 

administrations. In late 1965, as the Vietnam War escalated, President 

Johnson reimposed a budget ceiling. Congress clamped down further in 

1968, canceling the fast deployment logistics ship and requiring (as part 

of the deal for a tax increase) a $3 billion cut in defense expenditures 

during FY 1969. It is in this context of large expenditures followed by belttightening that the effectiveness of McNamara’s changes to the defense 

acquisition process must be considered. 

McNamara had understandable reasons for presuming that 

the acquisition process was broken when he took office in 1961. The 

Eisenhower administration faced growing congressional criticisms of its 

procurement policies, which came to a head during 1960 hearings before 

the House Armed Services Committee. Assistant Secretary of Defense 

Perkins McGuire maintained that cost-plus-fixed-fee (CPFF) contracts had 

grown to cover 34 percent of procurement dollars because “development of 

new weapons predominates and buys of production quantities of weapons 

for inventory [had] become less common.” Both firm-fixed-price and fixedprice incentives, he argued, were feasible only when past experience made 

possible a realistic base price, and the pace of change often precluded that. 

Unconvinced, Chairman Carl Vinson led the charge in calling cost-plusfixed-fee overused and condemning incentives as giveaways to contractors. 

Why not, the committee concluded, employ more rigorous firm-fixed 

pricing? Increasing the risk to contractors presumably would force economy 

and efficiency on them.2

The McNamara team agreed with Vinson’s criticism of costreimbursable contracts. To placate Congress and also pursue its own 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 81

inclinations, the team decided to emphasize fixed-price contracts with 

single or multiple incentives. Assistant Secretary of Defense Thomas 

Morris talked publicly of letting profits range up to 15 percent, compared 

to the current 4.5 percent to 9 percent. Indeed, during 1961–1962 the 

Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) and industry reached a consensus 

that incentivizing contracts was the right path to pursue. As an Air Force 

official argued, “The fatal flaw of the cost-plus-fixed-fee is that profit is a 

function of estimated cost, unaffected by how well or poorly the contractor 

performs. In a profit-oriented economy, this defect is basic.”3

 McNamara 

wanted to recognize the central importance, as he saw it, of the cost-benefit 

ratio. Between 1961 and 1968, the percentage of CPFF contracts fell from 

36 to 10, while fixed-price incentive contracts increased correspondingly. 

But this shift did not translate into higher profits—quite the contrary. 

Average defense business profit as a percentage of total capital investment 

actually declined during most of the 1960s. Paradoxically, greater use of 

competition seems to have been the chief cause. Most defense firms became 

heavily involved in the commercial market, creating more competition for 

resources and new capital within the defense industry. Booming orders 

for commercial jetliners provided the best example. Just at the time when 

research and development began accounting for an increasing proportion 

of the aircraft industry’s total business, a broad decline in production runs, 

which traditionally had been the foundation of profits, undermined the 

stability of the industry. The combination of increased costs and a narrower 

production base meant that the production breakeven point rose steadily.4

In this kind of financial environment, profits were determined by market 

forces and not by DoD’s new weighted guidelines.5 Revisions to the Armed 

Services Procurement Regulations and laws like the Truth in Negotiations 

Act (enacted 10 September 1962) seemed almost like flotsam carried 

along by the current of technology and market competition; RAND Corp. 

studies concluded that the switch to fixed-price incentives had almost no 

discernible effect on acquisition outcomes.6

A few examples of management reforms can illustrate both 

progress realized and problems faced by the acquisition community in 

the 1960s. First, consider the activities of James N. Davis, who served 

as deputy assistant secretary of Defense for Weapons Acquisition and 

Industrial Readiness from 1961 to 1964. As an early task, he set up a 

compartmentalized inventory of all machine tools owned by the Department 

of Defense. “Men accumulate machine tools,” Davis later observed, “like 

money or women.” Once the inventory lists were compiled and Davis’s 

reform efforts were underway, the services had to contend with new 

procurement guidelines that governed the purchase and storage of machine 
82 Providing the Means of War

tools. If, for example, the Navy wanted to buy some milling machines and 

the Air Force wanted to sell some of its, the Navy was required to check 

and see what excess equipment was available before making purchases 

from the open market. The services, Davis recalled, “fought like steers” 

before accepting this reform, and there was concern within OSD that 

the services might try to undermine or circumvent this effort. The Air 

Force was building B–70 prototypes and had been allocated as much as 

$200 million for hard tooling. Worried that the Air Force still hoped for 

a full aircraft production run and would spend the full amount allocated 

for tooling, McNamara ordered Davis to inspect the facility at Palmdale, 

California, every three months and report what hard tooling was being 

stored there.7

 These reporting requirements and supervision of compliance 

with them were part of a growing movement within OSD to centralize 

elements of the acquisition process.

The Defense Supply Agency (DSA) serves as a useful second example 

to illustrate management reform and centralization under McNamara. DSA 

started functioning on 1 January 1962. Why was it needed? Single managers 

were operating under rules set by their parent services; customers had to 

use as many sets of procedures as there were commodity managers. The 

DSA began by functioning as a wholesale distributor between major depots. 

Although the services still set requirements and controlled retail distribution 

to users, economy was realized by reducing supply inventory levels. The 

agency also became responsible for administering most contracts. After 

a pilot test in the Philadelphia region, Defense Contract Administration 

Services took up the task, which mainly involved eliminating duplication 

and prescribing uniform procedures. The services, however, continued to 

administer the funding of state-of-the-art weapon system programs, that is, 

those contracts that mattered most in terms of visibility and dollar value.

The other great innovation of the 1960s—undertaken to control costs by 

fostering competition—was total package procurement (TPP). Developed 

in 1964, TPP was promptly applied to such major programs as the C–5A 

cargo plane, the amphibious assault ship (LHA), the short-range attack 

missile (SRAM), and the Maverick missile. Assistant Secretary of the Air 

Force Robert Charles, the creator of TPP, had been executive vice president 

of McDonnell Aircraft. Charles identified the cause of cost overruns as 

“iceberg procurement,” which involved buy-in bidding at unrealistically low 

prices and then “getting well” through negotiation rather than performance. 

Contractors used low buy-in bids to get a foot in the door, so to speak, fully 

expecting to renegotiate the terms of the initial contract award. The services 

proved to be very tolerant of this practice in the 1950s, so McNamara 

welcomed any contracting arrangement that would restrict this questionable 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 83

business behavior. Hailed as a miracle of contracting, TPP would allow the 

government to establish, through competition, binding commitments about 

price and performance covering operating costs over a system’s lifetime. The 

success of TPP, though, depended on the fulfillment of certain conditions. 

If the government and the contractor could determine with reasonable 

accuracy what the weapon system was supposed to do, and if the requisite 

technologies necessary to develop the system were sufficiently developed 

so that straightforward engineering practices could be applied to make the 

system work, then binding commitments could be obtained and enforced. 

The Defense Industry Advisory Council (DIAC), a body composed of 

senior business executives, studied TPP and, in mid–1966, the group gave 

its qualified blessing to the practice. Members were most concerned with 

whether TPP would stifle innovation and creative technology. As members of 

DIAC saw it, the history of aircraft and missile development was the history 

of constant improvement within a program (e.g., successive models of the 

B–52, C–130, F–4, and Sparrow air-to-air missile). What would happen, 

they worried, after a full life-cycle contractor was chosen and the spur of 

competition ceased?8

 

As it turned out, they were worrying about the wrong thing. A 1966 

RAND study suggested that the switch to incentivizing had done almost 

nothing to spur contractor efficiency and control costs.9

 Total package 

procurement, nonetheless, drew favorable early reviews. A 1967 study 

by the Logistics Management Institute (LMI) concluded that TPP was 

proving effective for a particular category of acquisitions: those stateof-the-art programs where design, development, production, and logistic 

support could be defined and priced at a high degree of detail. Contractors, 

it appeared, were being pressed to innovate in order to meet their cost, 

schedule, and performance requirements. But the LMI report also cautioned 

that since TPP locked in a set of performance requirements for a fairly long 

time, coping with change could pose difficulties.10 By 1968, in fact, enough 

data was becoming available to prove that, despite endorsements from 

civilian and government executives, TPP and fixed-price incentives had not 

notably improved the acquisition process. Why? 

Inflation, Vietnam, and commercial competition for skilled labor and 

resources played their parts. But the critical misjudgment, most likely, was 

a misreading of how technology affected acquisition. Policymakers seem 

to have assumed that nothing comparable to the great technological leap of 

the 1950s, from bombers to missiles, would occur during the 1960s. Yet, 

arguably, the strides made during the 1960s were just as great even if they 

were not outwardly as dramatic. The difference between a single-warhead 

Atlas D and a Minuteman III carrying multiple independently targetable 
84 Providing the Means of War

reentry vehicles (MIRVs) was a technical leap on the order of the progress 

from a Ford Model T to a Lexus luxury sedan. A RAND study comparing 

aircraft design and development in Western Europe and the United States 

concluded that the Europeans were bringing out models faster that were 

equal to ours in all aspects save avionics.11 By the 1970s, however, it had 

become clear that aircraft performance now needed to be measured by the 

capabilities of the avionics package, not by old standards like maximum 

speed and rate of climb. 

A 1970 article by a North American Rockwell executive, which drew 

upon a study done by the Aerospace Industries Association, ably analyzed 

the impact of continuous technological advance upon defense procurement. 

Theoretically, fixed-price incentives encouraged technologically superior 

performances. In practical terms, contractors faced situations where rewards 

and penalties proved irrelevant to their ability to perform: “The technology 

of highly advanced systems is so soft that the contractor must work at 

his maximum effort and speed just to get the job done; an incentive 

designed to make him work harder and faster than he can is futile.” 

The author distinguished “anticipated unknowns,” whose costs at least 

could be roughly estimated, from the increasingly frequent and much 

more dangerous “unanticipated unknowns,” whose costs could not be 

estimated at all. This “total uncertainty envelope” induced the government 

to press for definitive specifications even while it induced contractors to 

seek broad and flexible ones. Lockheed, for example, anticipated using 

carbon or alloy-steel brakes for the C–5; instead, it had to develop a 

system with costly beryllium brakes. Engineers at first saw the C–5 as a 

technological upgrade of the C–141, but it turned out to be more like a 

quantum leap. Moreover, an error in one estimate tended to amplify itself 

as development and production went forward. Under these conditions, the 

author concluded, profit and loss became “largely irrelevant to meritorious 

contract fulfillment.”12 The full dimensions of TPP’s failure to control 

the C–5’s costs were just beginning to unfold as 1968 ended. But enough 

soon would be known for a business executive to say without fear of 

contradiction at a 1971 DoD-industry symposium that “we must . . . never, 

never make the mistakes of the sixties again.”13

How did McNamara’s effort at centralization play out in terms of 

correlating acquisitions with strategy? Immediately upon taking office, the 

Kennedy administration replaced the strategy of Massive Retaliation with 

one of Flexible Response. There was no prior interagency study similar to 

Project Solarium of spring 1953 and no paper articulating the new concept 

comparable to the November 1953 statement of Basic National Security 

Policy in NSC 162/2. “Flexible Response” was perhaps more a mantra 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 85

than a strategy. What, for example, would be the threshold for employing 

nuclear weapons? No clear answer appeared.14 President Kennedy prized a 

capacity to adapt strategy and tactics promptly to meet novel situations. He 

promptly eliminated the NSC Planning Board, which had played a central 

part in formulating and later revising the Eisenhower administration’s “New 

Look” strategy. The result, probably unintended, was that the articulation 

of national strategy became the province of the Office of the Secretary of 

Defense. McNamara used draft presidential memorandums (DPMs) to spell 

out strategic concepts as well as propose and justify force levels. These 

DPMs grew in number from two in 1961 to sixteen by 1968. They grouped 

forces into functional categories such as strategic retaliatory, continental 

defense, general purpose, air and sealift, antisubmarine warfare, and 

underway replenishment. McNamara expected the services to start speaking 

this language and appraise acquisition decisions in these terms.

The 1963 DPM on strategic retaliatory forces set an objective of 

“assured destruction” of 30 percent of the Soviet population, 150 cities, 

and 50 percent of its industrial capacity, which became the justification 

for capping the Minuteman ICBM force at 1,000. The DPMs for generalpurpose forces specified a capability for waging two wars, later increased to 

two-and-one-half; that definition justified sixteen (and later eighteen) active 

Army divisions as the Vietnam War escalated. McNamara declared that 

force levels would be determined by requirements, not by arbitrary budget 

ceilings as in the Eisenhower years. 

Since McNamara defined strategy in terms of force requirements and 

determined all requirements himself, however, the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

(JCS) and the services ultimately felt marginalized. Military men came to 

see the DPMs’ elaborate cost-effectiveness calculations by systems analysts 

as rationalizations for force levels that already had been chosen. In 1963, 

for example, McNamara cited an Index of Combat Effectiveness to claim 

that U.S. ground capabilities for defending Western Europe were greater 

than previously allowed. General Maxwell Taylor, the JCS chairman, 

countered: “The most important factors, courage, morale and leadership, 

are not subject to physical measurement. If as most soldiers believe, ‘in 

war the moral is to the physical as three is to one,’ only about a fourth of 

the determinants of victory are susceptible to the coefficient approach and 

they are variables undergoing constant change.” McNamara did not change 

the DPM; he simply appended Taylor’s critique as a footnote.15 In another 

DPM, McNamara asserted that NATO’s lead in payload delivery capability 

translated into superiority over Warsaw Pact air forces. The JCS denied that 

payload should be the determining factor in the equation and made a less 

optimistic appraisal. Were systems analysts stressing payload because it was 
86 Providing the Means of War

the category where NATO had a clear lead? By 1967, McNamara and the 

JCS were at loggerheads on practically every major force-level issue. The 

Air Force, for example, still made the achievement of air superiority its top 

priority and developed the F–15 for that purpose, winning approval of the 

F–15 contract definition after McNamara left office.16

When McNamara took office in January 1961, all of the services were 

oriented toward waging nuclear warfare. Long lead times, of course, ruled 

out any rapid reorientation of service capabilities toward limited war. 

However, the doctrinal and organizational obstacles to change often proved 

as great as the technological ones. Strategic Air Command dominated the 

Air Force to the point that, in 1959, consideration was given to abolishing 

the Tactical Air Command. According to Air Force manuals of that time, 

“The best preparation for limited war is proper preparation for general war.” 

This institutional viewpoint was not easy to undermine; in August 1964, 

more than three years into Flexible Response and on the eve of escalation in 

Vietnam, the doctrinal manual devoted only two pages to counterinsurgency 

compared with thirteen for nuclear and conventional air operations in 

support of general war.17

While McNamara could fix force levels, the services retained a strong 

voice in determining how they would be equipped. The story of the F–111, 

which started life designated as the TFX, shows how the services were able 

to set limits on McNamara’s bid for centralization. Acquisition, strategy, 

and doctrine were all tied together; in order to control any one of them, 

McNamara had to control all of them. Both the secretary and the services 

steadily escalated the stakes involved, making the F–111 probably the most 

publicized weapon system of the 1960s. The Air Force wanted a successor 

to the F–105, a plane that had been designed primarily for high-performance 

delivery of tactical nuclear weapons at low altitude. Emphasizing that 

capability made perfect sense under Eisenhower’s strategic concept that the 

United States would not fight a limited, conventional war with the Soviet 

Union. Tactical Air Command specified that the successor plane should be 

capable of a long, low-level supersonic dash, so that TAC could compete with 

long-range missiles in delivering nuclear weapons. 

After only three weeks in office, McNamara ordered the Air Force 

and Navy to start developing a joint tactical fighter, the F–111, tailored for 

a variety of conventional and nuclear missions. To him, the advantages 

in economy and efficiency seemed obvious and overriding. But service 

doctrines, rising costs and novel technology combined to raise almost 

insuperable obstacles. First, there was the matter of technological overreach 

revolving around the swing-wing. A series of “unanticipated unknowns” 

arose, aggravated perhaps by the speed with which McNamara moved to 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 87

set specifications. The variable swing-wing design looked good in theory, 

but hinging wings to the fuselage with large pins in a central yoke added 

weight and undermined structural integrity. The wing-mounted munitionscarrying pylons, which had to be swiveled so they still would point straight 

ahead when the wings moved, proved to be another serious technical 

obstacle. Greater than expected aerodynamic drag and fuel consumption 

meant that the supersonic dash had to be much shorter and at subsonic 

speed, yet a broad spectrum of design choices making the plane bigger and 

heavier had been keyed to a supersonic nuclear dash. And if the emphasis 

now was on conventional capability, why was a dash needed at all? As 

an added complication, program milestones were chosen to obtain a high 

degree of concurrency, overlapping the testing of prototypes with the start of 

series production. An early penalty was the stalling caused by engine-inlet 

incompatibility, which the government had to pay to correct. The F–111’s Mark 

II avionics system promised much, but costs mushroomed and performance 

fell short. It seems inconceivable that even a man of McNamara’s energy and 

dedication could have mastered so many intricate problems. Apart from all 

these “unanticipated unknowns,” he had to contend with service opposition to 

the “one size fits all” approach embodied by the F–111. McNamara’s choice of 

General Dynamics, which involved the almost unprecedented step of rejecting 

the Air Force-Navy Source Selection Board’s recommendation of Boeing (the 

Air Force’s long-time favorite) prompted congressional hearings that gave 

service critics powerful allies on Capitol Hill.

With the Navy, what McNamara faced was really not so much a 

doctrinal dispute as a tradition of autonomy, derived from the conviction 

that the Navy had a unique task that made it the best judge of its own needs. 

The Navy maintained that the plane was too heavy for carrier takeoffs 

and landings. Fundamentally, what the Navy disliked was the bi-service 

nature of the program. Thus, despite an aircraft weight reduction program 

carried out under McNamara’s personal supervision, the Navy-controlled 

flight tests produced results that continued to rate the F–111B unfit for 

service.18 After McNamara left office, the Navy did finally kill the F–111B 

and procured instead its own F–14. The Air Force’s F–111A emerged as 

more a bomber than a fighter, lacking the acceleration and maneuverability 

necessary for a multipurpose aircraft. McNamara’s second-best solution 

was to pressure the Air Force into canceling its F–107 and adapting the 

Navy’s F–4H, which, as the F–4 Phantom fighter-bomber, became that 

service’s mainstay for the next decade. 

There was an important sense in which the Navy’s victory in the battle 

over the F–111 proved to be a Pyrrhic one. McNamara had relied heavily 

on the service secretaries to push the F–111. Successive secretaries of the 
88 Providing the Means of War

Navy failed to justify his expectations. Navy obstructionism confirmed, 

in McNamara’s mind, the pervasive influence of service parochialism as 

well as the persistence of an adversarial relationship between the OSD 

and the services. That helps explain why, in 1965, McNamara raised 

Alain Enthoven to the position of assistant secretary of Defense (Systems 

Analysis) and relied increasingly on his recommendations.

When McNamara turned his attention to the Army, which Flexible 

Response greatly elevated in importance, he found what he considered 

to be a sluggish and unimaginative organization as far as acquisitions 

was concerned. The proof seemed to lie in the Army’s ten-year effort to 

develop, within its own arsenal system, a successor to the M–1 rifle. Most 

senior officers did not welcome the new emphasis on counterinsurgency 

and unconventional warfare; a regular soldier, they felt sure, could 

always defeat a guerilla. The great rifle controversy must be considered 

in the context of the Army’s training and doctrine, which favored combat 

environments similar to those faced during World War II or in Korea. 

The Army’s M–14 reflected that preference. Technologically, the M–14’s 

principle improvement over the M–1 was a selector piece for automatic 

firing, a device reserved for squad leaders (a policy intended to conserve 

ammunition in the heat of battle). But that seemingly modest change was 

enough to create production line problems that brought rifle output to a halt. 

McNamara publicly labeled the M–14 program a “disgrace,” noting that 

building a rifle was relatively simple compared to producing the ICBMs 

and SLBMs that had been developed and deployed in less time. McNamara 

sent out his own trouble-shooters and finally forced the Army to accept 

Eugene Stoner’s lightweight AR–15, modified into the M–16. 

Intervention by OSD only fostered more controversy. Civilian 

appropriation of the rifle decision upset some combat arms and ordnance 

officers. Army critics noted that the new rifle undermined the institution’s 

traditions; the widespread introduction of M–16s virtually did away with 

rifle inspection, a crucial officer-enlisted man relationship for more than a 

century. In Vietnam, while the M–16 proved clearly superior to the M–14, 

controversy erupted over reports of deaths in combat caused by M–16 

malfunctions. Although the blame for malfunctions could most likely be 

attributed to the Army’s decision to modify the weapon and change the 

standard ammunition, the M–16’s negative reputation was unshakeable in 

some circles.19

McNamara conceived the Main Battle Tank as the Army’s equivalent 

of the TFX. In 1963, he and his West German counterpart agreed to a 

collaborative effort, the MBT–70, that he justified along the same lines as 

the F–111: “The pooling of ideas and sharing of costs should make for a 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 89

better end product at lower expense.” But here, too, doctrinal differences 

between the two countries combined with technological difficulties to 

create insuperable obstacles. The M–60 in service was essentially the 

fourth-generation version of a late World War II medium tank design, 

heavier and better armed. The Army identified a requirement for a much 

more sophisticated successor capable of carrying the extremely complex 

Shillelagh, a beam-riding antitank missile that was still under development. 

The Army wanted Shillelaghs because its tank doctrine called for engaging 

enemy forces at 2,000 to 3,000 meters, a range at which rifled guns became 

less effective. The Bundeswehr’s doctrine, by contrast, called for engaging 

at 1,000 meters or less—but 1,000 meters was the Shillelagh’s minimum 

range. Since Central Europe was the likely battleground, one would think 

that the two allies could have come to agreement about how to fight 

there. But they did not, and OSD did not intrude; it is not clear whether 

McNamara understood the doctrinal issue and its importance. As an added 

complication, the Bundeswehr was ready to field the Leopard I tank, 

which it had taken only four years to develop. German engineers, unlike 

their American counterparts, retained all rights to completed inventions. 

Consequently, the Germans had no stake in an experiment like the 

Shillelagh, which proved very difficult to perfect. The price of collaboration 

was an agreement for the MBT–70 that was “more complex and risky than 

either army would have pursued if left to itself.” Costs spiraled and the 

project finally collapsed.20 The Leopard I entered service in 1965; the U.S. 

Army had to live with upgrades of the M–60 until 1979. Since armor was 

a mainstay of conventional defense in Europe, where McNamara wanted 

non-nuclear capability strong enough to serve as a firebreak against nuclear 

escalation, failure of the MBT–70 undercut his strategy.

McNamara prompted a study that led to creation, in 1962, of the Army 

Materiel Command (AMC). The Ordnance Department’s poor record 

in tank and rifle development afforded ample reason for reining in the 

technical branches that had become almost like independent fiefdoms. The 

AMC’s first commander, General Frank Besson, was under pressure to 

move quickly and felt he had no alternative to appointing forty-one program 

managers, seventeen of whom reported directly to him—an exceptionally 

wide span of control. What was AMC’s contribution in terms of value 

added? Some senior officers thought that AMC became little more than 

Ordnance writ large. This claim deserves closer study. Besson pointed with 

pride to the vast expansion of ports, roads and depots in Vietnam between 

1965 and 1968. His successor, General Ferdinand Chesarek, had a less 

sanguine view: “We used the push supply technique in Vietnam, the most 

wasteful war we have ever fought . . . because a man back here . . . is going 
90 Providing the Means of War

to push as much as he can get lift for, so that he will not be charged with a 

shortage. . . . Most was never used; finally ended up bulldozing it into big 

holes and burying it.”21

McNamara’s relations with the Navy seem always to have been strained. 

For example, he crossed swords constantly with Admiral George Anderson, 

who was Chief of Naval Operations from 1961–63. In an emotional interview 

in the mid–1970s, Anderson related how, early on, a German-born civilian 

analyst, Dieter Schwebs, had begun a cost-effectiveness study of attack 

carriers, leading Anderson to make a strong protest to McNamara. Of course, 

the analyses continued. McNamara looked upon antisubmarine warfare as 

the Navy’s most important mission, in which carriers would not play a major 

role. The point of contention became whether carriers should be oil-fired 

or nuclear-powered. McNamara’s directive to the Navy was couched in his 

trademark language: “As a general guide, I am interested in achieving the 

most efficient possible naval forces, defining efficiency as achieving the 

most beneficial military results for a given expenditure.” The Navy, in 1963, 

concluded that a nuclear-powered carrier’s superior performance would more 

than offset its slightly greater lifetime cost. McNamara, however, cast the 

choice in different terms: “I am absolutely certain of one thing,” that having 

six conventional carrier task forces would be better than having five nuclear 

ones. Also, by raising concerns about the carriers’ growing vulnerability, 

McNamara seemed to be diminishing the role of what the Navy still saw as 

the centerpiece of U.S. sea power. 

Despite the efforts of Admiral Rickover and his congressional allies, 

McNamara got funding for the oil-fired John F. Kennedy. Then the Vietnam 

War intervened to preserve a force level of fifteen carriers, just as the 

Korean War had helped to save naval aviation. In a striking reversal of 

policy, McNamara recommended funding a nuclear-powered carrier in 

1966, a decision informed in part by the fact that such a ship now would 

require two reactors, rather than the four proposed in the earlier design 

(hence the vessel passed the cost-effectiveness test). Whether to build 

nuclear-powered escorts remained a controversial issue, but the overall level 

of surface unit construction was the basic question. Instead of protected 

convoys, antisubmarine warfare began to center on P–3 patrol aircraft and 

especially on barriers of nuclear attack submarines that would dispatch 

Soviet submarines as they entered and exited the North Atlantic.22 Scores of 

World War II ships were nearing the end of their useful lives; critics charged 

that McNamara was concealing the cost of Vietnam, in part, by postponing 

replacement construction. But production also was postponed because new 

anti-air systems promised much—and then “unanticipated unknowns” added 

more deferrals. The upshot was that the next administration had to cope with 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 91

the consequences of block obsolescence. McNamara’s experience recalls 

a remark by President Franklin Roosevelt. Trying to change anything in the 

Navy, Roosevelt said, was like punching a pillow. You could punch and punch 

until you were exhausted, but the pillow’s shape would remain the same.

There was one crucial area where McNamara successfully melded 

strategy, doctrine and acquisitions: strategic retaliatory forces. He imposed 

Mutual Assured Destruction under criteria, mentioned earlier, that allowed 

detailed cost-effectiveness calculations. In retrospect, McNamara looked 

on leveling off the Minuteman force at 1,000 missiles as his best and 

most important acquisition decision. By the mid–1960s he had become 

convinced that the best defense was a good offense. Let the Soviets spend 

$40 billion on ballistic missile defenses; we could negate their deployment 

by spending $10 billion on MIRVs, decoys, and penetration aids. “The cost 

in itself is not the problem,” ran his 1967 rationale for rejecting heavy U.S. 

missile defenses; “the penetrability of the proposed shield is the problem.” 

McNamara angered the Army by blocking Nike-Zeus; and the Air Force, 

by halting the B–70, holding the Advanced Manned Strategic Aircraft to 

concept formulation, and refusing to proceed with a large-payload ICBM 

development project. But his force-level and acquisition decisions have 

mostly stood the test of time; succeeding administrations continued adding 

more reentry vehicles rather than more silos, megatonnage, or missile 

defenses. David Packard later identified Polaris and Minuteman I as the two 

best-managed programs involving complex weapon systems and noted that 

they were done without OSD playing a major role. While this may be true, 

the cause and effect of that fact is far from clear. Moreover, Poseidon and 

Minuteman III were successful, even more complex, and accomplished with 

full OSD participation. 

In The High Priests of Waste, Air Force analyst Ernest Fitzgerald 

waxed indignant about the huge cost of fixing Minuteman II’s guidance 

system. Mean time between failures (MTBF) had fallen so low that 40 

percent of the force was offline. The MTBF contract requirement was 

defined as a goal, not a specification; hence the government bore the 

expense. But the Air Force and OSD were dealing with “unanticipated 

unknowns”; their objective was assuring performance, not capping costs. 

Fitzgerald complained that, for Minuteman III, “contractual documents did 

not commit the contractors to do anything but did commit the government 

to pay them money up to a stated limit, called the limitation of cost. As the 

contractors’ spending approached the cost limit, the compliant Air Force 

contracting officers would simply raise the limit to permit the contractor to 

continue. . . .”23 Yes, but how else could a path-breaking project have kept 

moving forward?
92 Providing the Means of War

The New Frontiersmen felt that they had inherited in the Single 

Integrated Operational Plan not a nuclear war plan but a “horrible spasm.” 

McNamara wanted weapon systems that would permit a controlled, 

discriminating response, providing counterforce as well as countercity (or 

countervalue) options. The 1961 Hickey Report concluded that this was not 

achievable before 1971.24 Polaris was strictly a counter-city weapon, and 

Minuteman I could not take out hardened targets. Minuteman II, however, 

made a great advance in accuracy and could qualify for counterforce use; 

so would the Poseidon C–3. Air Force Systems Command very much 

disliked what it saw as OSD’s intrusion. So, reversing the question about 

the Army Materiel Command, the issue here is whether the Air Force 

Systems Command suffered some value lost. Looking strictly at ICBMs, 

there is no evidence that development and deployment were delayed or that 

performance suffered. Minuteman I’s circular error probable shrank greatly 

in the Minuteman II, fielded only four years later. The MIRVed Minuteman 

III, well along when McNamara left office, qualified not as an evolution 

but as a new weapon system.25 Here, then, McNamara could claim that 

acquisitions were turning his strategic vision into reality. 

Vietnam, however, supplied McNamara’s military and congressional 

critics with ample ammunition. The failure of Operation Rolling Thunder

came to symbolize the shortcomings of centralization. Rejecting repeated 

military advice, McNamara stayed wedded to a strategy of graduated 

pressure against Hanoi and micro-managed the selection of targets during 

the Rolling Thunder bombing campaign. Both the air campaign in the 

North and the attrition campaign in the South failed to break the enemy’s 

will. The bill of particulars against McNamara’s management of the war 

grew steadily longer. As an example, iron bombs had to be repurchased 

from West Germany at higher prices because stocks ran low; this problem 

was emblematic of the kind that undercut the deference that Congress 

had shown toward McNamara in the early 1960s. Early in 1968, the 

seizure of the U.S.S. Pueblo followed by the Tet offensive presented the 

administration with two crises at a time when Vietnam deployments had 

drained away practically the entire CONUS strategic reserve. Available 

forces could not fight two wars, let alone the two-and-a-half required by 

national strategy. Here was proof that some of McNamara’s force-level 

calculations and justifications were wrong. 

Could technology have carried the day in Vietnam? In mid–1965, the 

director of Defense Research and Engineering, Dr. Harold Brown, approved 

about eighty projects for limited war and counterinsurgency, on such things 

as low-level aircraft, jungle equipment, and target acquisition beacons. 

However, Brown cautioned the Defense Industry Advisory Council that, 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 93

“he was not positive technology would provide the needed answers.” Thus 

far, he admitted, technology had in fact provided “very little.”26 Precision 

guided munitions, the one thing that might have made Rolling Thunder

much more effective, entered the inventory in quantity several years too late. 

The classic story tells of the Thanh Hoa bridge, which survived many attacks 

during Rolling Thunder but was taken out by one smart bomb in 1972. 

Should centralization be labeled an acquisition failure? “Unanticipated 

unknowns” continually thwarted efforts to trade off cost against performance 

in setting requirements. Arguably, though, the public perception was worse 

than the reality. A wide range of weapon systems conceived during the 

1960s were well regarded by the services when they came on line in the 

1970s. Even the C–5A, once its wings were fixed, performed excellently 

during the October 1973 airlift and thereafter. Still, when McNamara left 

office in February 1968, centralization clearly had fallen out of favor. The 

Nixon administration kept important features of the Planning Programming 

Budgeting System, but returned considerable authority to the services. Yet 

in McNamara’s mind, the purpose of systematizing had been to promote 

centralization. If the services could determine acquisitions, McNamara 

believed, then they would be able to define the strategy—more likely, the 

strategies, because no service was sufficiently broad-gauged to see the whole 

national security problem objectively. 

McNamara had moved to impose systematization and centralization 

promptly and by fiat. Whether he might have achieved more by moving 

slowly and building consensus is not clear. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and 

the services accepted the outer form of systematization but not the inner 

substance of centralization. The chiefs rearranged their Joint Strategic 

Objectives Plan (JSOP) so that its force-level recommendations were 

presented according to the program package format. Thus they started 

speaking the secretary’s language, but it never became their native tongue. 

Under the new JSOP format, for example, the long-running dispute over 

whether tactical air should be primarily land-based or carrier-based went 

on unabated and unresolved. Strategic retaliatory forces, however, formed 

a large exception; thinking truly did shift from service over to program 

package terms. It is worth remembering, though, that McNamara built on 

a foundation laid by his predecessor, Thomas Gates. By establishing the 

Single Integrated Operational Plan and the Joint Strategic Target Planning 

Staff, Gates compelled the services to begin viewing that segment of 

strategy, doctrine, and acquisitions from wider perspectives. Otherwise, 

though, service cultures were entrenched firmly enough to prevent 

McNamara’s push for centralization from reaching fulfillment. 
94 Providing the Means of War

Notes

1

 Charles J. Hitch, Decision-Making for Defense (Berkeley: University 

of California Press, 1965); see also Alain C. Enthoven and K. Wayne Smith, 

How Much Is Enough? (New York: Harper & Row, 1971). 2

 Hearings, DoD Procurement Presentation in Connection with the 

Committee’s Study of Procurement Policies and Practices, 8–9 February 

1960, 24–25, & No. 67, 31 May 1960, 6045–75, HASC, 86th Cong, 2d 

sess.; also see Army-Navy-Air Force Journal 97 (30 July 1960): 11–28. 

3

 Address by Assistant Secretary of the Air Force Robert Charles, 23 

September 1964, OSD Historical Office, Box 604. However, a 1956 study 

of contracting with Atomic Energy Commission offered this defense: “The 

cost-plus-fixed-fee contract is the administrative contract par excellence. 

For the market mechanism, it substitutes the administrative mechanism. 

For the profit share of private entrepreneurs, it substitutes the fixed fee, a 

payment in lieu of profits foregone. And for the independent business unit, 

it substitutes the integrated hierarchical structure . . . of an agency . . . and 

its contractors.” Richard A. Tybout, Government Contracting in Atomic 

Energy (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1956), 175. 4

 Donald M. Patillo, Pushing the Envelope: The American Aircraft 

Industry (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1998), 250. 5 Logistics Management Institute Task 69-1, Defense Industry Profit 

Review, March 1969, 13, 14, 17, 23, 24.

6 Report, RM-5700-PR by Irving M. Fischer, A Reappraisal of the 

Incentive Contracting Experience (Santa Monica: RAND, 1968). 7

 James N. Davis, interviewed by Elliot V. Converse III, and Walter 

S. Poole, U.S. Army Center of Military History, Ft. Lesley J. McNair, 

Washington, D.C., 29 June 2001.

8

 “Summary Minutes—Meeting of the DIAC,” 10–11 June 1966, OSD 

Historical Office.

9 Ernest Fitzgerald, The High Priests of Waste (New York: W. W. 

Norton, 1972), 94–95.

10 Logistics Management Institute Task 67-3, Total Package 

Procurement Concept: Synthesis of Findings, June 1967, 64, 67, 74. 11 Report, R-733-PR/ARPA by Robert Perry et al., System Acquisition 

Strategies (Santa Monica: RAND, June 1971), 30–32. We badly need 

a methodology for appraising the amount of technological change that 

various weapon systems incorporated. This study includes, on p. 13, a 

chart of “Technological advance ratings” on a scale of 1 through 20 with 

nine broader categories (e.g., “several weapon system elements require 

improvement and integration”). However, perhaps because of the particular 
Acquisition in the Department of Defense, 1959–1968 95

weapon systems that were chosen, I believe that the chart seriously 

underrates the technological advances of the 1960s and the difficulties that 

they presented. 12 Hudson B. Drake, “Major DoD Procurements at War with Reality,” 

Harvard Business Review (January–February 1970): 119–41.

13 Proceedings of Symposium on Major Defense Systems Acquisition, 

11–12 September 1971, NDU Library. 14 The contrast can be seen in NATO strategy documents. MC 14/2, 

adopted by the North Atlantic Council in 1957, stated that NATO would 

employ nuclear weapons, regardless of whether the Soviets did so, in all 

cases save incursion, infiltration, or local hostile action. MC 14/3, ten years 

later, described both direct defense by conventional means and the threat of 

nuclear escalation. 

15 U.S. Dept. of State, Foreign Relations of the United States: 1961–

1963, Vol. VIII (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1996), 138 –52, 158–77, 545–71.

16 Jacob Neufeld, “The F–15 Eagle,” Air Power History (Spring 2001): 

4–19.

17 Conrad C. Crane, American Airpower Strategy in Korea, 1950–1953

(Lawrence, Kans.: University Press of Kansas, 2000), 175.

18 Robert F. Coulam, Illusions of Choice (Princeton: Princeton 

University Press, 1977), passim.

19 James Davis, “How the Army Got Its Rifle Changed,” 1986; Thomas 

L. McNaugher, The M–16 Controversies (New York: Praeger, 1984); 

William H. Hallahan, Misfire (New York: Scribner’s, 1994), 445–521. 

20 Report, N-1680-RC by Thomas L. McNaugher, Collaborative 

Development of Main Battle Tanks (Santa Monica: RAND, 1981), 4–26. 21 AMC Oral History Program, “Reflections of Former AMC 

Commanders,” AMC History Office, Alexandria, Virginia, 1989. 22 Thomas M. Roherty, Decisions of Robert S. McNamara (Coral 

Gables: University of Miami Press, 1970), 141–72. Systems analysts 

concluded that, “the key to future efficiency was large-scale production in 

a single yard, with standardization strongly enforced.” U.S.S. Spruance, 

the first of thirty DD 963s, entered service in 1975. See Norman Friedman, 

U.S. Destroyers (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1982), 221–25, 363–64, 

369–77.

23 Fitzgerald, High Priests of Waste, 115–22. 24 Foreign Relations: 1961–1963, Vol. VIII, 196. The study was 

conducted by a group from the National Security Council Net Evaluation 

Subcommittee, headed by Lieutenant General Thomas F. Hickey, USA.

25 Hearings, Government Procurement and Contracting, pt. 4, House 

Cmte on Gov’t Operations, 91st Cong., 1st sess., 23 April 1969, 1122.
96 Providing the Means of War

26 “Summary Minutes—Meeting of the DIAC,” 10–11 September 1965, 

OSD Historical Office.
Building Missiles: Concurrency and the 

Legacy of the Early Air Force ICBM Program

John Lonnquest

In the early 1950s, the rapid evolution of technology, coupled with the 

increasing tensions of the Cold War, forced the United States Air Force 

to reevaluate the way it developed weapons. Its immediate problem was 

twofold. The growing sophistication of high-speed jet aircraft and longrange ballistic missiles, both of which incorporated advanced power plants, 

sophisticated electronics, and high-speed airframes, taxed the abilities of the 

United States’ most accomplished scientists and engineers. The designers’ 

job was further complicated by the rapidly escalating tensions of the Cold 

War. As the arms race intensified, the Air Force wanted its new generation 

of weapons developed faster than ever before. 

In an attempt to solve, or at least mitigate, the effects of this vexing 

dilemma, in the early 1950s the Air Force altered its approach to weapons 

development. First, it began developing its new weapons on a systems 

basis. This represented both a conceptional and organizational shift as the 

Air Force began concentrating less on building the components and more 

on integrating the pieces to form a fully operational weapon system. Several 

years after the introduction of the so-called systems concept, the Air Force 

also enthusiastically began using an aggressive new program management 

philosophy it called concurrency. Intended to accelerate the development 

process, concurrency was predicated on scheduling a high degree of overlap 

between the research and development, testing, and production phases of 

the development cycle. Both the systems concept and concurrency came 

of age on the Atlas Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) program and 

both bore the indelible imprint of one man, General Bernard Schriever. 

To understand the magnitude of the changes wrought by the 

introduction of the systems management concept, one needs only to 

examine the Army’s aircraft development process prior to World War 
98 Providing the Means of War

II. The procedures had changed little over the previous thirty years. 

First, the Army determined the aircraft’s technical and performance 

specifications and then, acting as its own general contractor, hired an 

airframe manufacturer to build the fuselage. Other contractors supplied 

the major components such as the power plant, avionics, and fire control 

system. The major subsystems were often developed independently of 

one another and were usually provided to the aircraft manufacturer as 

government furnished equipment.1

The results were often less than satisfactory. All too often the engineers 

trying to assemble the mismatched pieces found themselves with an aircraft 

that fell far short of the Army’s requirements. Despite its many flaws, 

however, during the lean interwar years this cumbersome system was still 

a viable way of developing aircraft. With little money available to develop 

new aircraft, designers contented themselves with making incremental 

improvements to the existing technology. Moreover, there was little stimulus 

to produce new aircraft quickly. With few incentives to reform the system, 

Army aircraft development meandered along until World War II.

As one might expect, aircraft development changed rapidly under the 

pressures of the war. The Army Air Forces (AAF) Materiel Command, 

which at that time was responsible for research and development and 

procurement, staggered under the herculean task of designing and building 

tens of thousands of new aircraft. The old system was a product of the 

Materiel Command’s functional organization: One laboratory controlled 

engine development, another supervised avionics, and a third produced 

the armament. Coordination between the laboratories was poor, and the 

system proved incapable of supervising the production of thousands of 

aircraft at dozens of new plants scattered across the country. Coordinating 

the development effort among the various contractors also proved to be 

a nightmare, revealing that the Army lacked both the personnel and a 

management system capable of monitoring all of its aircraft development 

programs.2

In an effort to streamline the development process, toward the end of 

the war the Army Air Forces began developing aircraft on what it called 

a systems basis. Under the new concept, the Army selected an aircraft 

manufacturer as the prime contractor and then made that firm responsible 

for developing the entire aircraft, from propeller to tail, plus all of the 

ground support equipment and specialized maintenance facilities necessary 

to make the aircraft operational. The Army first used the new development 

strategy on the B–29 bomber and P–61 night fighter.3

The results of the systems approach were encouraging, and the Air 

Force continued to experiment with it through the late 1940s.4

 At the same 
building missiles 99

time the program managers at Wright-Patterson AFB were experimenting 

with this new way of doing business, other far reaching organizational 

changes were in the offing in Washington. For years a small but influential 

cadre of officers had been arguing that the Air Force’s Air Materiel Command 

(AMC), which was responsible for research and development, procurement, 

and maintenance, was simply too busy to wage the kind of rigorous, farreaching research and development program the Air Force needed. Reflecting 

the culmination of years of behind-the-scenes lobbying, in January 1950 

Air Force Chief of Staff Nathan Twinning accepted the recommendations of 

the Ridenour and Anderson reports and announced that he was creating the 

position of deputy chief of staff for Development (DCS/D) and would also 

soon establish an independent research and development command.5

Nearly a year and a half elapsed before the Air Research and 

Development Command (ARDC) was formed in April 1951. In the interim, 

the staff of the new DCS/D completed several studies to determine how 

the Air Force should conduct research and development (R&D) under the 

new command. One of the most influential studies was written in April 

1951. The paper, titled “Combat Ready Aircraft: How Better Management 

Can Improve the Combat Readiness of the Air Force,” was prepared under 

the direction of Colonel Bernard Schriever, the Assistant for Development 

Planning, DCS/D.6

Schriever’s study was a critical examination of AMC’s R&D structure 

and policies. He found major weaknesses in the AMC system and argued 

that because of certain “organizational and procedural flaws,” it was 

ill-suited for developing complex weapon systems.7

 In making a case 

that weapons development needed to be conducted on a systems basis, 

Schriever argued that in the past, the Air Force had not always understood 

that a “complete weapon means not only the airframe and the propulsion, 

armament, and electronic systems within the airframe, but also the ground 

support equipment, facilities, and spare parts required for satisfactory 

service.”8

 Timing was important, too. Not only did the components have to 

fit together perfectly, but they also had to be ready at the same time. 

To fit all of the components together, Schriever noted, required not 

only a “degree of luck,” but also weapon system planning, budgeting, 

and control. The problem with the current system, he found, was that 

a requirement for a new weapon, although originally established as a 

complete system, quickly lost its identity as such. The cohesiveness 

of the requirement evaporated as the responsibility for its components 

was assigned to various different commands. The development of the 

components became an end unto itself, and their relationship to the overall 

weapon system was a secondary consideration.9
100 Providing the Means of War

To correct this organizational imbalance, Schriever proposed that 

at both the Air Staff and the field development agency levels, complete 

weapons system control should be vested in a new management level 

located one tier above the organizations specializing in the individual 

components. Equally important, the new management level must, as 

Schriever wrote, “not only have the responsibility but also the authority to 

plan, budget, program, and control the research and development effort.”10

Schriever’s study quickly gained the support of the special assistant 

to the Chief of Staff, retired Lt. Gen. Jimmy Doolittle. Doolittle was 

pushing for a broad-based reorganization of Air Force R&D, seeking 

to simplify the working relationship between ARDC and AMC project 

offices and also between the Air Force and its contractors.11 As a part of 

that reorganization, in November 1951 Doolittle wrote to Lt. Gen. Earle 

Partridge, the commander of ARDC, telling him that he wanted to attain the 

organizational changes proposed in Schriever’s study.12

With Doolittle’s support, Schriever’s study helped convince the Air 

Force to begin developing its weapons on a systems basis. The Air Force 

called the approach the weapons system management concept, and in 

December 1952 General Donald Putt, the vice commander of ARDC, 

ordered that all major development programs use it. Putt wrote “that the 

complete weapon system—the aircraft or guided missile, its components, 

supporting equipments, and USAF preparation for its implementation as 

a weapon—should be planned, scheduled, and controlled, from design 

through test, as an operating entity.” The objective of the new system, Putt 

told the commander of the Wright Air Development Center, was to develop 

a “balanced and complete combat-ready weapon system. . . .”13

By early 1953 the weapon system management concept had emerged 

as the centerpiece of the Air Force’s efforts to restructure its approach to 

R&D. The Air Force hoped that the new methodology would improve 

coordination between ARDC, AMC, and their contractors by forcing each 

organization to restructure its management efforts on a systems basis. 

With the weapon system concept firmly established, in the spring 

of 1954 Schriever’s career took a new turn. Since early 1953 Schriever, 

along with Trevor Gardner, the special assistant to the secretary of the 

Air Force for Research and Development, had been prodding the Air 

Force to accelerate the ICBM program. Together Gardner and Schriever 

assembled a group of influential advocates to lobby on behalf of the missile 

program. None was more influential than the brilliant mathematician John 

von Neumann, chairman of the Air Force’s Strategic Missiles Evaluation 

Committee, commonly referred to as the Teapot Committee. In its February 

1954 report, the Teapot Committee boldly concluded that “given the proper 
building missiles 101

direction and support,” the United States could field an operational ICBM 

in six to eight years.14

In May 1954 Schriever and Gardner’s efforts culminated in Chief of 

Staff Twinning ordering the Air Staff to accelerate the Atlas program to “the 

maximum extent technology would permit.” The chief of staff also gave 

the missile program a 1–A development priority (the Air Force’s highest), a 

generous budget, and a talented staff.15 In another important development, 

in June 1954 Gardner selected Schriever to command ARDC’s Western 

Development Division, the ICBM program management office located in 

Inglewood, California. 

With the lessons of the “Combat Ready Aircraft Study” fresh in his 

mind, Schriever, who was about to embark on a development effort of 

unprecedented scope and complexity, recognized that despite his best 

intentions, the weapon system concept would quickly lose its cohesiveness 

if he lacked the authority to put it into practice. As a result, from the outset 

of the Atlas program Schriever was adamant that he had to have wideranging authority to enable him to administer the project on a systems 

basis.16 He got much of what he asked for. ARDC commander Lieutenant 

General Thomas Power gave Schriever “complete control and authority 

over all aspects of the Atlas program.”17

From his first day on the job, Schriever understood that Atlas would 

not be operational by 1960, the goal established by the Teapot Committee 

report, using the Air Force’s standard development methodology. Without 

the time to develop the missile and its support facilities in a sequential, 

step-by-step fashion, Schriever elected to use a risky and controversial 

management technique he called concurrency. Designed to compress the 

development cycle, concurrency was predicated on overlapping the research 

and development, testing, and production phases with the goal of having all 

of the pieces of a fully operational weapon system ready at the same time. 

Although the concept of concurrency came of age during the ICBM 

program, it was not born at the Western Development Division. The 

military had used it to develop weapons during national emergencies 

since World War I, when the Navy designed and produced depth charges 

concurrently. During World War II, the military used concurrency to speed 

the development of radar, the proximity fuse, and the atomic bomb.18 The 

Army Air Forces also used concurrency to expedite the development of new 

aircraft, most notably the B–24 and B–29 bombers and the P–47 fighterbomber.19 However, after World War II ended and the defense budget was 

cut way back, the military curtailed its use of concurrency. 

Hemmed in by the Teapot Committee’s optimistic estimates, when 

Schriever took command of the Atlas program he had no choice but to 
102 Providing the Means of War

“undertake all phases of the design-to-production-to-operation cycle 

concurrently rather than sequentially.”20 Concurrency, said General 

Charles H. Terhune, the WDD’s deputy commander, was not the easiest 

way to produce the ICBM quickly—it was the only way.21 At Schriever’s 

direction, during the summer and fall of 1954 the WDD planners set 

1960 as the completion date and began working backward, establishing 

program milestones as they went.22 “Concurrency,” said Lt. Col. Richard 

Jacobson, the WDD deputy director for testing, “was not an intellectual 

exercise.” We used it,” Jacobson remembered, “as a way to back into our 

schedules.”23

Schriever liked to describe concurrency as “moving ahead with 

everything and everybody, altogether and all at once, toward a specific 

goal.”24 It was a risky and complicated approach. Using concurrency and 

guided by a master schedule studded with carefully calculated milestones, 

the WDD was preparing to build the Atlas launch facilities and ground 

support equipment well before it finished designing the missile.25

The contrast between concurrency and sequential development was 

striking. In the normal development cycle missile production, crew training, 

and the construction of the vital support facilities did not begin until after 

R&D was completed and the design finalized. Not so with concurrency. 

Production, albeit of early prototypes, began during the R&D phase, as did 

training and the construction of the launch facilities. For example, data from 

the first flight tests was fed back into the production process. That resulted 

in a steady stream of carefully controlled design changes being incorporated 

into the missiles on the assembly line. But altering the missile was only 

the first step. Often the changes resulted in other time-consuming and 

expensive modifications: production lines had to be reconfigured, training 

programs changed, and missile silos rebuilt. 

Concurrency was a complicated process, easy to describe yet 

extraordinarily difficult to understand. It had many faces, and depending 

on its applications, each one was different. To Atlas program manager Otto 

Glasser, concurrency was simply a collective description that incorporated 

many of the elements of the WDD’s management process. 

The term “concurrency” originated at the Western Development 

Division in 1955. During that hectic first year, as Schriever and his 

planners wrestled with the details of the first Atlas development plan, 

they frequently described overlapping or parallel tasks as happening 

“concurrently.” Searching for a readily understandable way to describe 

the complicated development process, in early 1955 Schriever began 

calling it “concurrency.”26 It was a description intended only for public 

consumption. The term “concurrency” was rarely if ever used within the 
building missiles 103

walls of the Western Development Division.27 Similarly, neither the Air 

Force nor its contractors ever used the term in any of their correspondence. 

James Dempsey, the president of Convair’s Atlas division, said neither he 

nor his staff ever used the term “concurrency” when describing the missile 

program.28

How, then, could the WDD’s staff, whom Otto Glasser said “lived 

with concurrency . . . and believed in it almost to the point of being a 

religion,” not have talked about it?29 In actuality they did, but never used 

the term “concurrency” to do it. That was because from their perspective, 

concurrency was not a single, unified management approach. Concurrency 

was only one element of the WDD’s management process. In order for 

concurrency to be effective, the program management office also needed 

a high degree of centralized authority, adequate resources, and a talented 

staff. Concurrency did not exist separately; it was the sum of its parts.

Schriever, however, made concurrency the symbol of the Ballistic 

Missile Division’s (Western Development Division changed its name 

in June 1957) entire management approach. In doing so, he equated 

concurrency exclusively with the overlapping development and production 

process and ignored the many contributing factors that made it work. 

Although this was a dramatic oversimplification, it served Schriever well. 

It allowed him to use concurrency as a buzzword, a simple, convenient 

way to describe the intricate development process to the uninitiated.30 The 

result was that although Congress and the media still did not understand the 

Ballistic Missile Division’s management methodology, through Schriever’s 

stripped down explanation of concurrency, they thought they did. 

Concurrency was also a superb public relations tool. It helped Schriever 

cloak the ICBM program in an aura of managerial expertise and reassure 

Congress that its money was being well spent.31 When members of Congress 

visited the Ballistic Missile Division (BMD), Schriever briefed them in 

the heavily guarded Program Control Room (PCR). Schriever called the 

PCR the nerve center of his entire program, and it was there that all of the 

information from the BMD’s comprehensive management control system 

flowed. Standing in front of a huge wall covered with more than 400 brightly 

colored charts showing the master milestones, hardware production records, 

and master weapon system configuration lists, Schriever was able to offer his 

visitors seemingly convincing evidence that concurrency worked.32

Concurrency was the most prominent component of the Ballistic 

Missile Division’s development approach. Over the years its role in the 

ICBM program has been unduly praised and unjustly criticized. Perhaps 

the most realistic assessment of concurrency came from Brig. Gen. Osmand 

Ritland, the BMD vice commander. He said, “Bold as it is, the concept of 
104 Providing the Means of War

concurrency really embraces little more than the principle of teamwork, 

applied with modern management techniques and possessed by an attitude 

of urgency. . . . Simply speaking, concurrency implies progress in parallel 

fashion rather than in series fashion.”33

Schriever remained an ardent proponent of concurrency throughout his 

career. Based on his experience with the ICBM program, he argued that 

concurrency was a practical and cost-effective way to develop weapons 

quickly and efficiently.34 Despite Schriever’s support, however, concurrency 

remained controversial and its effectiveness, measured in terms of 

producing an operational weapon system quickly and at a reasonable cost, 

was the subject of much debate within the Pentagon. The commonly shared 

sentiment among senior officials was that concurrency did indeed save 

time, but at a frightful cost. In 1961 Lt. Gen. Roscoe Wilson, the deputy 

chief of staff for Research and Technology, described concurrency as 

“useful but very wasteful” and said that the Air Force could only afford one 

or two such programs.35 Harold Brown, the director of Defense Research 

and Engineering, told a House subcommittee that he thought concurrency 

was justified only on critical programs.36 William Holaday, the director of 

Guided Missiles within the Office of the Secretary of Defense, had similar 

sentiments. In the past, Holaday said, concurrency was unnecessarily 

expensive and in the future should only be used on programs where 

compressing the development cycle was of the utmost priority.37

In retrospect, the Atlas program amounted to a test case for the weapon 

system management concept and concurrency. Before Schriever used them 

on the missile program they lacked both a track record and a constituency. 

The ICBM program changed that. Both weapon systems management and 

concurrency flourished on the Atlas program, and were also used in the 

follow-on Titan, Thor, and Minuteman programs. Later, senior Air Force 

personnel took the gospel of concurrency to NASA. 

The Atlas program thrust the weapon system management concept and 

concurrency squarely into the national spotlight. Schriever was an effective 

advocate for both. Under his stewardship the missile program acquired a 

reputation for tough, astute, aggressive management. Schriever’s genius 

lay in the application of the weapon system concept and concurrency. His 

principal contribution was in creating a development organization and an 

operational environment that allowed both to flourish. It was a three-step 

process. First, he secured an unparalleled degree of support, initially from 

the Air Force, and later from Congress and the White House, for the ICBM 

program. Next he translated that support, applied through the weapon 

system management concept, to define the far-reaching parameters of the 

Western Development Division’s responsibilities. Then once all of the 
building missiles 105

program elements were defined and milestones were established, Schriever 

could arrange and re-shuffle them using concurrency. The often overlooked 

point here was that the systems management concept was an essential 

prerequisite for concurrency.38 Also, had Schriever tried to use concurrency 

without the necessary preconditions, notably the systems managment 

concept, a talented staff, generous budget, and consistent political support, 

it would have likely been a disaster. 

The Atlas program helped usher both systems management and the 

concurrency into the mainstream of weapons development. But what was 

their long-term legacy, or to put it another way, how have they fared since 

Atlas? The systems management concept has prospered and is now the 

accepted way of developing almost everything within the Department of 

Defense. Concurrency’s legacy is less clear. Schriever’s model of an allencompassing, seamless management plan was clearly misleading. Also, 

contrary to Schriever’s position, concurrency did not save money. Although 

it helped the Air Force produce an operational ICBM faster than would have 

been possible using sequential development, concurrency was frightfully 

expensive. 

The Air Force always recognized concurrency’s limitations, and in the 

early 1960s began reevaluating its stance on the controversial technique. 

Part of that was attributable to the changing climate for R&D. The 

tremendous push to develop the ICBMs, quickly and all costs, slackened. 

Another important factor was new management in the Department of 

Defense. Anxious to introduce a measure of centralized control into the 

weapons development process, Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara 

introduced phased planning in an attempt to curb some of concurrency’s 

most egregious excesses. 

Concurrency, however, did not disappear. It flourished under a variety 

of guises. In the early 1960s, for example, it made its way to NASA and the 

Apollo program in the form of “all-up” testing. Like concurrency, all-up 

testing was created to meet a pressing deadline, in this case the presidential 

mandate to land a man on the moon by the end of the decade. The idea 

behind all-up testing was simple. With the Apollo program already behind 

schedule and over budget, in 1963 NASA’s new Associate Administrator 

George Mueller ordered the agency to abandon its carefully choreographed 

sequential flight test program in favor of all-up testing. Instead of making 

multiple test flights consisting of various combinations of the first, second 

and third stages, Mueller ordered that the first Apollo launch would test the 

entire missile and launch vehicle assembly. Despite considerable internal 

resistance, all-up testing proved to be successful and was in large measure 

responsible for getting the Apollo program back on track. 
106 Providing the Means of War

 Although concurrency and all-up testing were risky and controversial, 

both later became symbols of their respective organizations’ management 

prowess. In perhaps its longest and most controversial legacy, all-up testing 

became a model for other high-technology development programs that 

hoped to emulate NASA’s success. Initially, Apollo’s success appeared to 

confirm the benefits of all-up testing and, by inference, of concurrency. 

During the 1960s and early 1970s, experts from around the globe flocked to 

the United States to learn the secrets of systems management. But as later 

generations of program managers ruefully discovered, both concurrency 

and all-up testing were ill-suited to programs that lacked the generous 

budgets and consistent political support that the early Air Force and NASA 

programs enjoyed. 
building missiles 107

Notes

1

 For a superb overview of the military’s weapons development policies 

and the rise of systems engineering, see Stephen Johnson, The United States 

Air Force and the Culture of Innovation 1945–1965 (Washington, D.C.: Air 

Force History and Museums Program, 2002). 2

 For an excellent account of the difficulties of World War II aircraft 

production, see I. B. Holley, Buying Aircraft: Materiel Procurement for 

the Army Air Forces, United States Army in World War II, Special Studies 

Series (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1964).

3

 “Weapon System Plan Spurs Development,” Aviation Week (17 August 

1953): 83. 4

 Another factor that increased the Air Force’s reliance on the systems 

concept was the growing complexity of missiles and jet aircraft. The 

systems concept streamlined the development process and also shifted 

much of the program management burden to industry, an attractive option 

at a time when the Air Force was having trouble recruiting qualified officers 

for R&D billets. Sterling J. Livingstone, “Weapon System Contracting,” 

Harvard Business Review 37 (July–August 1959): 83. 5

 Air Force Scientific Advisory Board, “Research and Development 

in the United States Air Force” [the Ridenour report], 21 September 1949, 

Air Force Historical Research Agency (hereafter cited as AFHRA); and the 

Anderson Report, 19 November 1949, in the “History of the Air Research 

and Development Command, January 1950–June 1951,” vol. II, June 1951, 

AFHRA, file K243.01. 

6

 “Combat Ready Aircraft: How Better Management Can Improve 

the Readiness of the Air Force,” staff study prepared by the Office of the 

Deputy Chief of Staff, Development, April 1951, AFHRA, Marvin C. 

Demler papers, file 168.7265–237, folder T–10.05, “Air Force Growth.” 7

 Ibid., 3.

8

 Ibid., 23.

9

 Ibid., 14.

10 Ibid., 15, 23.

11 Letter, Doolittle to the commanders of ARDC [Putt] and AMC 

[Cook], subj: Briefings on Various Aspects of ARDC-AMC Relationship, 

15 November 1951, 1–2, AFHRA, Earle E. Partridge papers, file 

K168.7014–4, folder, “cc August–December 1951.” 12 Letter, Doolittle to Partridge, subj: none [wants to attain the 

objectives established in Schriever’s “Combat Ready Aircraft Study”] 15 

November 1951, 1, AFHRA, Earle E. Partridge papers, file K168.7014–4, 

folder, “cc. August–December 1951.”
108 Providing the Means of War

13 Letter, General Putt [vice commander ARDC] to Commanding 

General, WADC [Wright Air Development Center], subj: General Policy 

Guidance Using Single Prime for Developing Complete Weapons System, 

18 December 1952, 1, AFHRA, Demler papers, file K168.7265, folder 

T–10.06: “Weapons System Policy.” 14 Recommendations of the Strategic Missiles Evaluation Committee, 

10 February 1954, in Jacob Neufeld, The Development of Ballistic Missiles 

in the United States Air Force, 1945–1960 (Washington, D.C.: Office of 

Air Force History, 1990), 259. For more on the political and technological 

controversy surrounding the ICBM, see Edmund Beard, Developing the 

ICBM: A Study in Bureaucratic Politics (New York: Columbia University 

Press, 1976) and John Lonnquest, “The Face of Atlas: General Bernard 

Schriever and the Development of the Atlas Intercontinental Ballistic 

Missile, 1953–1960” (Ph.D. diss., Duke University, 1996). 

15 Memorandum, General Thomas White, Air Force vice chief of 

staff, to Air Staff, subj: Project Atlas, 14 May 1954, in Thomas S. Snyder 

and others, eds., Space and Missile Systems Organization: A Chronology 

1954–1976 (Los Angeles: Office of History, HQ Space and Missile Systems 

Organization, 1976), 19–20.

16 General Bernard Schriever USAF (ret.), interview by the author, 27 

August 1991, Arlington, Va.

17 Memorandum, Lieutenant General Thomas S. Power, ARDC 

commander, to Schriever, subj: Assignment of Authority, Responsibility, 

and Accountability, 29 July 1954, Ballistic Missile History Office, Norton, 

Calif. (hereafter cited as BMO/HO), Basic Documents. Note: The Air Force 

closed the BMO in 1995 and transferred the history office’s extensive 

document collection to AFHRA. The documents have yet to be accessioned, 

so I continued attributing them to BMO/HO. 18 Wayne G. Glass, Concurrent Weapons Development and Production

(Washington, D.C.: Congressional Budget Office, 1990), preface, 19–20. 

19 Michael E. Brown, Flying Blind: The Politics of the U.S. Strategic 

Bomber Program (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1992), 329.

20 Bernard Schriever, “AFBMD: Catching Up With the Soviets,” 

Missiles and Rockets (28 July 1958): 53. 21 Major General Osmand J. Ritland, “Concurrency,” Air University 

Review 12 (Winter–Spring 1960–61): 240. 22 Colonel R. E. Hogan, “Management of the Atlas Weapon System,” 12 

October 1959, 5–6, AFHRA, file K243–012–53. 

23 Jacobson was in agreement with an internal Air Force report that found 

in practice concurrency begins with establishing an end date “and working 

backward in time for each major task . . . so that each area for action is clearly 
building missiles 109

delineated for management control purposes.” Lieutenant Colonel Richard K. 

Jacobson, USAF (ret.), interview by the author, 24 August 1991, Washington, 

D.C.; Hogan, “Management of the Atlas Weapon System,” 29. 24 Bernard Schriever, “The USAF Ballistic Missile Program,” in 

Lieutenant Colonel Kenneth F. Gantz, The United States Air Force Report on 

the Ballistic Missile (Garden City, N.J.: Doubleday & Co., Inc, 1958), 31. 

25 Claude Johns, Jr., “The United States Air Force Intercontinental 

Ballistic Missile Program, 1954–1959: Technological Change and 

Organizational Innovation” (Ph.D. diss., University of North Carolina at 

Chapel Hill, 1964), 121. 

26 Schriever interview, 27 August 1991. 

27 Colonel Bruce Arnold, a member of Schriever’s personal staff, and 

Colonel Joseph Hale, the deputy manager on the Thor program, never heard 

the term “concurrency” used at the WDD. Colonel Bruce Arnold, interview 

by the author, Washington D.C., 16 January 1992; Colonel Joseph Hale, 

interview by the author, Raleigh, N.C., 5 November 1991. 

28 James R. Dempsey, interview by the author, 7 March 1992.

29 Lieutenant General Otto Glasser, interview by the author, 13 August 

1991. 

30 The author confirmed this in an interview with Schriever’s former 

vice commander. Lieutenant General Charles Terhune, USAF (ret.), 

interview by the author, 5 August 1991.

31 Harvey Sapolsky found a similar set of circumstance’s on the 

Navy’s Polaris missile program. See Harvey Sapolsky, The Polaris System 

Development: Bureaucratic and Programmatic Success in Government

(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972); W. Henry Lambright, 

Governing Science and Technology, Public Administration and Government 

Series (New York: Oxford University Press, 1976), 53. 

32 Colonel Charles W. Getz, “Management Control in the Air Force 

Ballistic Missile Program,” 1959, 5–10, BMO/HO, box F-8; Ernst G. 

Schwiebert, A History of U.S. Air Force Ballistic Missiles (New York: 

Praeger, 1964), 96. Note: At one point the milestone charts contained more 

than 9,000 items. 

33 Ritland, “Concurrency,” 240. 

34 U.S. Congress, House, Subcommittee of the Committee on 

Government Operations, Hearings, Systems Development and Management 

(Part 3), 87th Cong., 2d sess., (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1962), 819; 

Bernard Schriever, “Systems Analysis: Useful, Yes—But Hardly a 

Panacea,” Air Force and Space Digest 51 (May 1968): 59–60; U.S. 

Congress, House, The Organization and Management of Missile Programs, 

HR 1121, 86th Cong., 1st sess. (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1959), 59. 
110 Providing the Means of War

35 Robert Frank Futrell, Ideas, Concepts and Doctrine: Basic Thinking 

in the United States Air Force, 1961–1984, vol. II (Maxwell, AFB: Air 

University Press [1971], 1989), 169.

36 Concurrency was justified, Brown said, only in those instances 

where the United States stood “in a very serious danger of failure of 

deterrent . . . or of an enormous loss of military power. . . .” U.S. Congress, 

House, Hearings, Systems Development and Management (Part 3), 465.

37 U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Aeronautical and Space 

Sciences, Subcommittee on Governmental Organization for Space 

Activities, Hearings, Investigation of Governmental Organization for Space 

Activities, 86th Cong., 1st sess. (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1959), 551. 

38 For more on the relation between systems management and 

concurrency, see Eugene Emme, ed., The History of Rocket Technology

(Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 1964), 148; Robert L. Perry, 

“The Atlas, Thor, and Titan,” Technology and Culture IV (Fall 1963): 471; 

Michael E. Brown, Flying Blind: The Politics of the U.S. Strategic Bomber 

Program (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1992), 175; Lonnquest, 

“The Face of Atlas,” 160–74; Stephen Johnson, The United States Air Force 

and the Culture of Innovation 1945–1965 (Washington, D.C.: Air Force 

History and Museums Program, 2002).
Seeds of a Revolution:

Maritime UAVs in the 1960s

Thomas P. Ehrhard

In the remarkable but obscure history of unmanned aerial vehicles 

(UAVs), the decade of the 1960s (in which they were called “drones”) 

marks their noteworthy emergence as useful combat aviation systems. 

Yet it was also a decade of frustration, as common knowledge about 

combat drones remained miniscule due to secrecy, and because no UAVs 

survived this period to become a regular part of U.S. military operations. As 

unmanned aerial vehicle technology continues to mature in the twenty-first 

century, the acquisition community can distill some important lessons from 

the “first UAV decade” that can, in turn, lead to more efficient, effective 

unmanned aircraft operations in the future. The key, as this paper will 

outline, is to understand the distinct patterns of acquisition behavior that 

influenced the development of early UAVs. This paper examines the efforts 

of the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps to build and deploy drone systems and 

explores the institutional behaviors and technical factors that shaped—and 

eventually doomed—early naval drone systems. 

Long before any other nation contemplated the combat use of 

unmanned aircraft specifically designed for return and reuse, Americans 

conceived and fielded them on a broad scale. During the 1960s, the U.S. 

military developed the first land combat drone, the first fielded weapondelivery drone, and what remains the most successful combat drone in 

history. These historical facts, unknown to most, actually obscure the 

broad scope and remarkable technological reach of the many U.S. combat 

drone programs of the 1960s, ranging as they did from cheap, visual-range 

aircraft for troop spotting to ultra-sophisticated, Mach 3+, intercontinental 

versions built to conduct intelligence operations deep in denied territory. 

What follows are service-specific tales of American weapon system 

exceptionalism that contains useful, policy-relevant lessons for the present.
112 Providing the Means of War

The Naval Services and Unmanned Aerial Vehicles

This paper covers the UAV programs of the naval services, the U.S. 

Navy and Marine Corps. By the end of the 1980s, the Navy and the Marines 

could claim the world’s only fielded weapons delivery UAV (DASH) and 

the most fully integrated UAV in the U.S. military (Pioneer). Yet despite 

these successes, the naval services have a weak record of UAV development 

from a dollar-investment point of view and have shown extraordinarily 

weak uniformed UAV advocacy since fielding these landmark UAVs. 

Lacking the external stimuli that boosted Air Force UAVs (support of the 

country’s strategic reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering agencies) 

and the persistent internal desire for UAVs in the Army, the naval services 

developed UAVs to address very limited tactical shortfalls—and then only 

when pushed by strong-willed service executives. 

The various UAV programs chronicled here were stymied by stiff 

resistance to drone development in the Navy and Marine Corps. This 

resistance came from two primary sources: functional impediments due 

to the inability of technology to withstand the fierce maritime operating 

environment and, in the case of the Navy, a feudal organizational structure. 

This structure put Marine aviation programs under the Navy budget, 

which, in turn gave little incentive to the Marine Corps to develop UAVs. 

This arrangement also allowed naval aviators to obstruct or ignore UAV 

development because they could depend on the surface line to accept 

more risk in this area. Both functional and structural issues intermix in 

the fascinating story of the first helicopter—of any kind—to operate from 

small Navy surface vessels, and the only fielded weapons-delivery UAV in 

history—the drone antisubmarine helicopter (DASH).

The Drone Antisubmarine Helicopter (DASH)

Long forgotten and unknown even to some modern UAV devotees, 

the DASH remains the only weapons-delivery UAV ever fielded—a truly 

revolutionary step. Moreover, DASH was the first U.S. helicopter of 

any kind assigned duty on small surface combatants. Its program history 

reveals the importance of a powerful advocate in launching UAV efforts, 

the difficulties a UAV encounters when operated by nonaviators, and the 

technical and cultural limitations of unmanned platforms relative to missiles 

and manned aviation. 

The Navy pushed DASH into the fleet too quickly, causing substantial 

operational problems. The Navy never was able to get beyond those early 

developmental troubles for lack of a powerful internal constituency and 
seeds of a revolution 113

because of more palatable alternative systems. The Navy curtailed DASH 

after less than four years and allowed it to limp along for another four 

before the craft passed into obscurity. The paragraphs that follow reveal the 

unique obstacles to UAVs that existed—and persist—in the Navy.

DASH was a small helicopter with twenty-foot counterrotating 

(coaxial) rotor blades.1

 The short blades made it easier to fit the tight space 

constraints of a naval destroyer. Still, it could lift an astonishing 1000 

pounds, enough to hoist two Mark 44 (later, one more capable Mark 46) 

antisubmarine torpedoes off its launch platform—a special deck installed on 

refurbished World War II-era destroyers. DASH cruised at eighty knots for 

twenty-five minutes with low engine noise and almost no vibration due to 

the counterbalanced propeller blades. 

With its parent destroyer, DASH was the premier antisubmarine warfare 

(ASW) weapon system of its time. DASH allowed the destroyer to remain 

outside enemy submarine torpedo range while holding the hostile contact at 

risk with its own torpedoes. When in receipt of sonar contact with an enemy 

submarine, a topside drone operator launched DASH, then handed off flight 

control electronically to the ship’s combat information center (CIC), where 

operators directed the craft toward the hostile contact using its radar return. 

Officers in the CIC dropped DASH’s torpedoes by remote control. With this 

method of employment, the radio control system required line-of-sight from 

the destroyer’s antenna to the air vehicle. Line-of-sight range restrictions 

lay well within the detection range of early 1960s–era sonar systems and, 

as such, were not an issue. The Navy made a substantial investment in 

DASH—746 air vehicles and associated materiel cost the Navy over a 

quarter of a billion dollars, or approximately $1.4 billion in 1999 dollars.2

DASH’s creation stemmed in part from the rising military enthusiasm 

for helicopters in the mid–1950s. The Navy, Marine Corps, and Army 

invested in numerous helicopter programs during this period, much of it 

stimulated by the growing need for air power in all warfighting venues, 

the advantages of vertical takeoff and landing, and Air Force domination 

of fixed-wing aviation.3

 The Navy had long been interested in helicopters 

but had not operated them from small ships as a normal capability due 

to the unreliable nature of helicopters in that era.4

 The Canadian Navy 

actually led the world in manned helicopter operations from escort ships, 

and the U.S. Navy kept a close watch on that experiment.5 Even before 

that, however, the Navy and Army commissioned a joint helicopter project 

that resulted in experimental droned versions.6

 The eventual DASH vehicle 

originated in the Marine Corps, which had been working on helicopters for 

battlefield mobility.7 Navy experiments demonstrated more robust manned 

and unmanned helicopter operations from the U.S.S. Mitscher off Newport, 
114 Providing the Means of War

Rhode Island, in 1958, leading to the modification of the U.S.S. Hazelwood

for drone helicopter trials in the spring of 1959.8

Two additional external influences stimulated the creation of the 

DASH. The first of these was technological breakthroughs in sonar design; 

the second was the growing Soviet submarine force. In World War II, the 

standard U.S. Navy QHB sonar ranged out to 1,500 yards, and, at this 

short range, “hedgehogs” (depth charges catapulted 200 yards from the 

ship) or dropped depth charges did the job—the destroyer basically had 

to place itself over the targeted submarine to achieve a kill, placing itself 

in jeopardy.9

 To address this range problem, the Navy developed a 5,000-

yard, rocket-assisted torpedo (RAT) in 1945 that proved unreliable and 

inaccurate. 

While weapons lagged, sonar improved. By 1955, the radically 

improved SQS–4 sonar allowed contacts out to 8,000 yards (4.5 miles), 

further emphasizing the critical weapon range shortfall. To fill that gap, the 

Navy explored an enhanced nuclear depth charge-capable system called 

the antisubmarine rocket (ASROC).10 Eventually, the RAT gave way to 

ASROC, which had been modified to deliver a conventional torpedo. Yet, 

even ASROC experienced reliability, accuracy, and weight problems during 

its long, seven-year development period, so the Navy continued to search 

for alternatives, and DASH was one of them.11

Even as 1950s U.S. sonar technology improved by leaps and bounds, 

the Soviet Union rapidly expanded its submarine force, stimulating what 

naval historian Norman Friedman described as an “ASW mobilization” in 

the U.S. Navy.12 The improved speed of new Soviet submarines like the 

Foxtrot class made long-range ASW weapons even more important and 

accentuated the requirement for accurate weapon delivery.13 The ASW 

weapon range and accuracy shortfall drove the Atlantic Destroyer Force to 

propose a drone-assisted torpedo (DAT) in 1956, the forerunner of DASH.14

The Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Arleigh Burke, played a 

dominant role in the development of DASH. Burke occupied the CNO’s 

office for an unprecedented six years from 1955 to 1961 and ruled over the 

U.S. Navy with an iron fist backed by his superhuman work ethic, strong 

personality, and sterling wartime reputation as “31 Knot Burke.”15 Although 

he presided over monumental naval innovations such as nuclear-powered 

submarines and ships, guided missile escorts, and submarine-launched 

ballistic missiles, Burke stayed close to his destroyer roots by declaring 

antisubmarine warfare the Navy’s top priority. In a letter to Admiral 

Nimitz in 1956, Burke wrote, “Our greatest technical problem now is antisubmarine warfare due to the tremendous submarine-building program of 

the Soviet Union.”16 The destroyer was central to Navy ASW operations, 
seeds of a revolution 115

and Burke took aggressive steps to shore up the antiquated World War II 

destroyer fleet. His fleet rehabilitation and maintenance (FRAM) program 

extended the life of more than one hundred World War II destroyers 

until new models could be built. Burke planned to deploy both DASH 

and its competitor, the upgraded ASROC, on FRAM destroyers.17 With 

Burke’s influence, FRAM (and by association, DASH) enjoyed a priority 

comparable to the huge Polaris missile program.18

Analytically, Burke represents an example of a very senior change 

agent with monarchic powers. This observation flies in the face of the 

characterization of the Navy as a feudal or decentralized organization. 

Organizational scholar James Q. Wilson addressed apparent contradictions 

like this directly when he wrote, “A certain proposal might be more easily 

adopted if it is dealt with by [one] sub-unit rather than by the organization 

as a whole because in the sub-unit there are fewer wills to concert.”19 As 

one might expect, the submarine community remained out of the picture, 

limiting subgroup diversity for this weapon system decision, but the carrier 

admirals would likely give voice to their skepticism. It is entirely plausible 

that because Burke was both an unusually charismatic and powerful twoterm CNO—he also served as the surface warfare “super-baron” during the 

period of DASH’s introduction—he could deal directly with the powerful 

carrier lobby.20

Innovation theorist Everett Rogers provided further insight by 

suggesting that the bureaucratic inferiority of Burke’s community (relative 

to the aviators) provided a stimulus for innovation. Innovators, in Rogers’s 

formulation, can be high risk-takers because they are willing to accept 

setbacks to net great gains—they have less to lose because they “may 

not be respected by the other members of a social system.”21 The surface 

community had suffered a grievous wound on 7 December 1941 when 

battleships lost the mantle of supreme capital ship of the line to the aircraft 

carrier. The surface warfare community had to battle back by adopting the 

tactics of the weak—they took upon themselves such countermissions as 

antisubmarine warfare and antiair warfare. The UAV (and ASROC, for that 

matter) provided them a golden opportunity to appropriate air power while 

maintaining autonomy in their subunit, while at the same time achieving 

ascendance within the naval hierarchy. All of these conditions facilitated the 

introduction of a radical innovation into the Navy.

Unfortunately, this “sweet spot” in time was ephemeral. Burke’s iron 

grip did not last, his community proved too inflexible for an aviation asset, 

and the march of technology rendered a pilotless aircraft vulnerable to an 

aviation community incursion. The narrative that follows describes the 

ascent and demise of an innovative weapon system.
116 Providing the Means of War

The World’s First Armed Drone

The 1958 specifications for the DASH system called for putting the 

fully armed drone (two torpedoes) within 200 yards of a hostile submarine 

contact at a range of 10,000 yards and 20,000 yards when carrying one 

Mark 43 torpedo. At that early date, the carrier aviators asserted themselves 

by demanding that their Bureau of Aeronautics build the helicopter. They 

announced a competitive contract for a prototype drone antisubmarine 

helicopter in that year. The developer of the Marines’ bizarre one-man 

Rotorcycle won the lucrative DASH contract on 31 December 1958.22 The 

first prototype model, the DSN–1, started trials at the Naval Air Test Center, 

Patuxent River, Maryland, in the summer of 1960 after unanticipated 

development troubles.23 Although early tests of the first DASH prototypes 

were piloted, the first unmanned operations from the destroyer U.S.S. 

Hazelwood took place on Pearl Harbor Day 1960, sometime after the first 

ships modified for DASH operations had rolled out of refurbishment.24

With Burke’s FRAM destroyers coming out of modification, the Navy was 

anxious to get them outfitted with their new helicopter as soon as possible.

DASH development did not progress fast enough to keep up with the 

FRAM modification schedule. It was hoped that DASH could now launch 

with two Mark 44 or one Mark 46 torpedo, or even the nuclear depth charge, 

in conditions ranging up to sea state six (“high sea,” thirteen- to twenty-foot 

swells).25 Burke pushed DASH through a turbine engine upgrade (DSN–2) 

and to what the destroyer community believed would be its operational 

version, the DSN–3, by April 1961.26 Program delays centered on problems 

with the electronic control system, which used an off-the-shelf 1940s–era 

target drone control setup to save money.27 The antiquated control system and 

the Navy’s reluctance to upgrade it became DASH’s Achilles heel.28

DASH Losses by Year

DASH’s prime advocate, Admiral Burke, retired as CNO on 1 August 

1960 and was replaced by naval aviator Admiral George W. Anderson, Jr.29

Burke’s replacement by an aviator came at a bad time, for a very new, highly 

innovative program like DASH could scarcely survive its developmental 

weaknesses in the harsh maritime operating environment without a 

champion. Still, Burke’s urgency to see the drone helicopter in the fleet 

undoubtedly rushed development to match the FRAM schedule. The detailed 

congressional oversight of weapon system testing that characterized military 

development after Vietnam did not apply in the 1960s, so the services could 

rush a system to the field and hope for later upgrades to systems already in 
seeds of a revolution 117

the fleet. A government investigation later found that the DASH program, 

planned for a seven-year development timeline, was “telescoped” to three 

years due to the mismatch between DASH development and the FRAM 

program.30

Admiral Anderson decelerated the drone due to electronic control 

problems. The Navy finally unveiled the remarkable but flawed drone in 

1963 in a naval firepower demonstration attended by President John F. 

Kennedy.31 The media exposure did not help, for the QH–50C immediately 

experienced problems in the fleet and attracted negative media attention. 

In less than two months after its appearance in the fleet in November 1962 

(two years after the first FRAM destroyer emerged from modifications) 

the Navy grounded DASH for six months.32 In congressional testimony 

that year, one Navy official admitted, “we did not put enough flight hours 

on it before we tried to introduce it into the fleet.”33 Naval analyst Norman 

Polmar observed that off-the-shelf electronics could not withstand the rigors 

of shipboard operations.34 UAV researcher Louis Gerken agreed, saying 

DASH had problems, “because the requirement for advanced electronic 

technology could not be met.”35 Despite the developmental slowdown, 

DASH still did not achieve an acceptable operational configuration. The 

period from late 1962 to the deployment of the improved QH–50D in 1965 

amounted to prototype development using the fleet as the test directors—a 

risky proposition. Immediately, the drones started crashing and the fleet 

voiced its objections.

DASH’s reputation in the fleet dipped as failures mounted. Sailors 

called it the “fire and forget” weapon because the DASH would fly away 

and not come back. Some said the robot helicopter “had a will of its own.”36

Numerous groundings and stand-downs caused skippers to wonder why this 

odd-looking craft cluttered their decks. Because many mishaps occurred 

out of sight and nonaviators had little flight experience, confusion reigned 

as to the cause of the crashes. Although C–model losses peaked in 1965, 

the much-improved D–model also crashed at a high rate during 1966, the 

crucial year in which the program was unfunded by the Department of 

Defense (see graphic). As if to confirm that decision, crash rates got even 

worse after cancellation until deployed numbers and usage diminished 

enough to improve loss statistics. 

The Navy fell victim to the mistaken belief that a drone could be a lowcost, high-volume program. As long-time naval UAV acquisition officer 

Richard Friichtenicht later observed, “controlling a helicopter RPV was 

more of a technology challenge than they thought.”37 The Navy’s reluctance 

to develop a modern (expensive) flight control system was reflected 

in a decision to upgrade such airframe components as the engine and 
118 Providing the Means of War

rotor blades, but to neglect 

improvement of DASH’s 

antiquated off-the-shelf flight 

control componentry.38 The 

DASH system had a new-age 

air vehicle but a World War II 

electronic control system, and 

the engineers at the Navy’s 

Bureau of Aeronautics never 

zeroed in on this crucial 

flaw.39

During this dismal 

period of crashes and 

investigations, destroyer 

captains learned to fear and 

despise the drone. Aviation 

and destroyer cultures 

clashed as the Bureau of 

Aeronautics demanded in-depth investigations (DASH was treated as a 

naval aircraft) of each crash, anathema to the “black shoe” (surface warfare) 

culture. Command of a ship at sea has a “zero defects” mentality that makes 

risk-taking in peacetime a bad idea, and DASH embodied risk. Some 

skippers received letters of censure for crashes, a career-ending mark. The 

“gouge” spread quickly: DASH was career death.40

Interviews conducted with the captains of two DASH-equipped ships 

buttress this claim. George Walker, skipper of the FRAM destroyer U.S.S. 

Arnold J. Isbell, remembers that many of his peers received letters of caution 

or reprimand for DASH losses leading to a self-imposed constriction of 

flight hours that hurt flight crew proficiency and led to a negative spiral 

of more DASH accidents.41 “When I took command [of the Isbell], this 

[DASH] was a thing the crew never used, but you had to train with DASH 

to be good at it,” said Walker.42 Ted Baker, a rare DASH skipper (U.S.S. 

Bronstein) who enjoyed having the system onboard, recalls great resistance 

among his peers, who already knew that “you had to be lucky to survive 

ship command, and there was a sense that flying the DASH was another 

way of screwing up.”43 One of the last ships in the Navy with DASH, the 

U.S.S. Bronstein benefited from an unusually competent DASH operator (a 

young lieutenant, junior grade) who understood the idiosyncrasies of DASH 

electronics. Additionally, Baker operated in an elite, experimental ASW unit 

in which he had the lone DASH-capable ship, making it a point of pride for 

the young crew.44 DASH took a special crew chemistry to make it work, and 

QH-50C QH-50D

120

Year

100

80

60

40

20

63 64 65 66 67 68 69

0

Losses
seeds of a revolution 119

one cannot build a constituency for an alien weapon system by depending on 

the efforts of a few exceptional skippers like Walker and Baker.

Even these DASH hands experienced moments of terror when 

DASH wandered away unexpectedly, however. During one fleet exercise, 

Bronstein’s DASH controller lost radar contact with the drone, so Baker had 

his lieutenant command the aircraft to hover and they lined up all available 

escort ships to sweep the ocean for the wayward drone—the entire fleet 

became immersed in finding Bronstein’s DASH. The flagship (aircraft 

carrier) commanding officer “went nuts” and sailed away to recover his 

aircraft where the drone could not possibly interfere. With the incentive of 

three days’ leave to the sailor who spotted his DASH, Baker’s “eagle-eye” 

chief quartermaster located it—hovering patiently above the wave tops as if 

waiting for its master. Baker positioned his ship under the drone while his 

DASH pilot lowered it safely aboard. To the crew and especially the captain 

of the Bronstein, a $125,000 drone (about $580,000 in today’s dollars) was 

an expensive article that they were not about to lose.45 To the carrier battle 

group, the DASH provided more of a distraction and a threat than a valued 

capability.

Although carrier admirals did not care for DASH, surface warfare 

community adaptation problems explain the vast majority of the problems 

with DASH. With an innovative weapon system, the man and the machine 

must find an accommodation. DASH marks yet another case of a nonaviation 

community desiring unmanned air capability, yet failing to come to terms 

with the needs of aviation technology. The following paragraphs highlight 

one of the largely unexplored reasons for DASH’s poor operational record: 

the unsatisfactory technical training of DASH personnel.

The surface navy did not underestimate the requirement for very smart, 

highly trained people to operate this system. They just failed to deliver it 

to the fleet. Shore-based DASH training billets were never permanent and 

came out of the destroyer fleet’s manpower list, and operational commanders 

were unwilling to rob the operational fleet to institutionalize DASH training. 

As a result, training units suffered manning shortages and experienced high 

turnover rates. The Pacific Fleet commander told the CNO that the current 

system provided only “stop-gap training” and that a permanent training 

cadre “remains inherent to the success of DASH.”46 The CNO, Admiral 

David L. McDonald (another aviator who took the helm in August 1963) 

agreed, but instead of taking precious billets from other areas to shore up this 

vital need, asked Secretary of Defense McNamara for extra billets and urgent 

minor construction funds, even though DASH was already in the fleet and 

experiencing problems.47 In a post-Burke regime dominated by the secretary 

of Defense and his cost analysts, that decision never came. More than likely, 
120 Providing the Means of War

it soured McNamara and his slide-rule set on the cost efficiency of the 

system because DASH was already crashing at an unsatisfactory rate.

Not only did the Navy fail to upgrade the DASH training system, it 

never assigned the right people to DASH duty. The original plan called for a 

DASH crew to include a jet mechanic, two aviation electronics technicians, 

and engine specialist—all in the experienced ranks of E–5 or E–6 (ranging 

from twenty-two to thirty years of age).48 Yet an internal Navy document 

written during the height of DASH deployment noted, “the average age 

of technician trainees assigned to DASH is approximately eighteen and a 

half years.” The memo revealed that trainees received an unsatisfactory ten 

to fourteen weeks of training and contrasted their performance with that 

of the DASH contractor, whose highly trained technical people lost only 

three drones out of 534 in rigorous flight checks prior to fleet delivery.49 By 

mid–1965, Atlantic Fleet reported that only 42 percent of shipboard DASH 

crews and 16 percent of crews in training met rank standards and blamed 

“low experience level of shipboard controllers and maintenance personnel” 

as a primary contributor to crashes.50 DASH required a sailor with superior 

electronic and mechanical capabilities, but the most talented went to the 

carrier fleet, and the fatally short-changed training program could not 

recover.51

As noted above, surface warfare officers also proved to be inadequate 

DASH pilots, a result in many ways beyond their control. The deck 

control officer required highly developed piloting skills to conduct tricky 

launch and recovery operations, which required some degree of inborn 

talent, intensive training, and constant repetition. DASH controllers 

attended a seven-week training course lacking deck motion simulation 

and experienced unacceptable time lags from the completion of training 

until deployment. As long-time Navy UAV expert Jay Bornfleth noted, 

“Loss of a DASH was almost always blamed on the ops control officer, 

so his career path was basically hopeless or dead.”52 For fear of losing an 

aircraft and undergoing an investigation, skippers often restricted DASH 

pilots from flying at night, in rough sea conditions, or during electronic 

countermeasures exercises, further minimizing drone controller proficiency 

and contributing to pilot error.53 Both DASH skippers interviewed for this 

study commented that they were lucky to have had exceptional DASH 

operators, but an operational aviation system—manned or unmanned—

cannot survive on exceptions. The surface warfare community simply failed 

to provide the training and environment DASH required.

Carrier aviators contributed to the poisoned environment surrounding 

DASH operations, for the robot flew in “their” airspace. George Walker 

could not fly his helicopter around the carrier because “aviators did not 
seeds of a revolution 121

want to be in the air with that crazy thing.”54 Carrier aviators made Baker 

“go way out in the boonies, I mean many miles away,” to practice with 

his DASH. He later recalled, “The carrier hated it when we put DASH in 

the air, all the pilots were afraid of flying into a drone.”55 Norman Polmar 

remembers that DASH operators were generally not allowed to operate 

on the outbound cruise of a carrier battle group due to the possibility of 

electromagnetic interference and constant carrier flight operations. Carrier 

admirals allowed DASH operations on the way back from a cruise, and 

then only during minimal or no manned flight operations. Accidents due to 

operator error tended to happen on the return cruise.56 As with any aviation 

asset, flight skills diminish quickly, perhaps even more quickly for the 

nonaviators who operated DASH.

What was the aviator’s answer to DASH operations they feared so 

much? Not long after aviators assumed the post of CNO in 1961, the 

Navy began pursuing a manned alternative called the Light Airborne 

Multipurpose System (LAMPS), which, unlike DASH, came equipped 

with a powerful bureaucratic constituency.57 Aviators pushed LAMPS 

along while DASH went through its difficulties in the fleet. Ironically, the 

surface navy paved the way for LAMPS by building bigger destroyers 

to accommodate all the electronic and missile gear, a move that allowed 

easier incorporation of the much larger manned helicopters.58 When the 

Navy reduced the number of DASH-configured destroyers in June 1966, 

Deputy Chief of Naval Operations for Air (air “baron”) Vice Admiral Paul 

Ramsey, testified in front of the Senate Armed Services Committee that 

the Navy should use manned helicopters for the DASH mission because, 

“unfortunately, in robots you can’t build judgment.”59 Thus, even as the 

dominant aviation community acted as a brake on DASH’s integration into 

normal fleet operations, they planned for its replacement.

Although carrier aviators may have had a hand in DASH’s decline, 

their efforts were not without warfighting merit. ASW technology advances, 

which had created the sensor-weapon mismatch that prompted DASH, now 

opened the door for LAMPS. The SQS–26, a huge bow-mounted sonar that 

produced submarine contacts out to thirty miles, created an ASW shortfall 

that DASH could not address.60

Where the critical ASW shortfall had been weapon delivery range, 

sonar range increases changed the problem to weapon delivery accuracy. 

Although the new sonar provided very long-range contacts, it could not 

provide an operationally lethal torpedo release plot from the ship, only a 

localized search area. The range limitations of the torpedo and the speed 

of Soviet subs required a highly accurate torpedo release point so that the 

torpedo could acquire and catch a fleeing submarine. Unfortunately, DASH 
122 Providing the Means of War

depended on the ship’s sonar and radar to achieve release accuracy. The 

inability of the ship to provide an accurate weapon release point meant the 

airborne attack platform had to get its own finely tuned target fix.

The only type of platform that could feasibly take its own updated sonar 

measurement (using a dipped sonabuoy) and deliver a torpedo inside a 

lethal range was a manned helicopter. As naval historian Norman Friedman 

observed, “This [the SQS–26] was finally a sensor well in advance of 

existing weapons; the problem had been solved only with the development 

of LAMPS.”61 This became apparent in the mid–1960s just as DASH was 

experiencing severe reliability problems. In contrast to DASH’s limited 

capability, the LAMPS Mark I helicopter carried a surface-search radar 

to detect a snorkel or periscope, a magnetic anomaly detector to localize 

a sonar contact, electronic intercept equipment, fifteen sonabuoys, a data 

link to feed sonabuoy data to the destroyer, and a human crew to operate 

the equipment beyond line-of-sight if required.62 The human pilot and crew 

on LAMPS provided expanded ASW capability as well as a much-needed 

ferry, communications relay, and resupply platform.63

Even though integrating LAMPS personnel aboard surface ships caused 

some problems initially, LAMPS actually solved a cultural problem for the 

black shoe navy. With the LAMPS aviation contingent onboard, the senior 

pilot assumes responsibility for flight operations, distancing the captain 

from the messy investigations and career-ending letters of reprimand 

associated with DASH. Thus a kind of symbiosis emerged from the clash 

of naval subcultures. The skipper returned to a focus on traditional concerns 

and essentially outsourced his air power, while the aviation community 

expanded its pilot billets and budget. Moreover, from an overall threat 

perspective, LAMPS addressed a critical ASW shortfall. The only losers in 

the transition to LAMPS were the Soviet Navy—and DASH.

The reasons for LAMPS eclipsing DASH are reasonable enough from 

an operational perspective, but DASH also fell victim to the antisubmarine 

rocket in the 1960s shakeout of ASW weapon systems. ASROC, which 

Norman Friedman called “the white hope” of the destroyer force when it 

was first proposed, almost did not survive the competition with DASH.64

In the original FRAM discussions, Navy planners talked of removing 

ASROC due to redundancy, weight, and poor test performance, but ASROC 

performed in all weather conditions and DASH did not.65 ASROC also 

carried nuclear weapons and although DASH had a centerline station for 

the nuclear depth charge, it was never certified to deliver that weapon.66

ASROC lacked both range and accuracy, but the key to its long life was its 

configuration as an expendable standoff rocket. ASROC fit more easily into 

traditional surface warfare modes of operation. Expendable munitions like 
seeds of a revolution 123

ASROC affected the ship little more than the five-inch gun, thus posing a 

minor challenge to convention.67 ASROC required no flight operations data 

links. Practice with ASROC hardly improved its performance, and anyway 

it was too costly per shot—$5,000 for the rocket booster alone—to practice 

with the same regularity as that required by DASH.68 ASROC’s explosive 

rocket fuel concerned ship captains but less than DASH’s spinning rotors as 

it descended precariously to their pitching deck. Since ASROC’s precarious 

start, the Navy built more than 12,000 rounds and finally ended ASROC’s 

long run after more than thirty years of service.69 Despite its many faults, 

ASROC’s inherent technical qualities demanded little adaptation from 

destroyermen, giving it great staying power in the fleet.

Based on a thorough review of the DASH program, Secretary of 

Defense Robert McNamara ended DASH’s short career. In December 

1966, he rejected a Navy request for $31 million to further rehabilitate 

the DASH fleet, citing “higher-than-expected peacetime attrition and 

lower-than-expected performance.”70 His decision canceled further DASH 

procurement and relegated remaining systems to FRAM II destroyers and 

a few late-model destroyer escorts.71 The small but vocal band of DASH 

backers, mainly the project office and the contractor, rushed to defend the 

program, but it was clear their words would fall on deaf ears.72 The Navy 

did not protest McNamara’s decision, for it is likely it helped ease DASH 

out to make room (mainly in the form of manpower billets) for LAMPS. 

Indeed, earlier that year, the Navy announced that the originally planned 

240-ship deployment would be cut back to more than one hundred ships.73

McNamara merely delivered the final stroke. Immediately, the Navy 

removed DASH from FRAM I destroyers that also had ASROC onboard. 

DASH accidents on remaining ships soared and continued at high rates for 

the rest of its operational life. According to Peter Papadakos, the executive 

director of the Gyrodyne Historical Foundation, the FRAM destroyer U.S.S. 

Keppler (DD–765) reported to North Island Naval Air Station (San Diego) 

on 15 June 1971 and transferred its two QH–50Ds (DS–1710 and DS–1749) 

to Building 865 for transfer to the Military Aircraft and Disposal Center at 

Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Arizona (the so-called aircraft boneyard), 

bringing to an end DASH’s Navy fleet deployment.74 DASH spent eight 

years in the fleet, its prime legacy being the bad taste it left in the Navy’s 

mouth concerning UAVs.

The U.S. Navy DASH program illuminates a number of important 

analytical issues. A rising Soviet submarine threat, rapid increases in sonar 

range, and weak alternative weapons delivery platforms in the mid–1950s 

drove the Navy to explore UAVs as a ship-based torpedo delivery platform. 

Destroyerman and CNO Arleigh Burke launched the innovative DASH 
124 Providing the Means of War

program, linking it to a ship rehabilitation scheme that he hoped would 

revitalize his weak surface warfare community. Rushed into the fleet to 

keep pace with that program, DASH suffered the fate of the Army’s SD–1 

Falconer—it performed so poorly that destroyer sailors never accepted it. In 

keeping up with the FRAM schedule, the Navy failed to adapt the machine 

adequately (especially in the area of electronics) to the demands of the fleet.

Or was it the other way around? The foregoing DASH narrative also 

argues that the surface community failed to take adequate measures to 

adapt itself to DASH, failing to train its operators and technicians to the 

standards required by such a craft even though it was within its power 

to do so. These feeble efforts were complicated by the carrier aviation 

community, which stayed well clear other than to restrict flying hours and 

enforce manned aircraft standards on nonaviators. Competitors for the ASW 

mission also diminished internal adaptation efforts, both from the direction 

of the manned aviation community (through LAMPS) and from standoff 

munitions (ASROC). Ultimately, the surface navy reached a comfortable 

accommodation with both without Herculean internal transformation, 

retaining its ways while maintaining superior warfighting capability. 

That is how DASH lost its Darwinian struggle for survival within the 

U.S. Navy: the man and the robotic helicopter failed to achieve a symbiosis. 

Stripped of its senior advocate and exposed to the elements, DASH limped 

through some eight years of crash-prone service on obsolescent ships 

before retiring to the Davis-Monthan boneyard. That failure meant future 

UAVs would face even stiffer barriers to inclusion in the only viable Navy 

customer, the surface warfare community.

The Cheap, Expendable Marine Corps UAV: Bikini

The Marine Corps also pursued drone concepts with some enthusiasm 

in the 1960s.75 The Marines’ thrifty and technophobic nature led them to 

explore more spartan systems that minimized drone personnel requirements, 

both numerically and in terms of required technical proficiency. They 

found, however, that the combination of low cost and easy maintenance left 

them with a drone lacking meaningful capability. This section shows the 

beginning of a strain—almost an obsession—in Marine Corps unmanned 

aviation that persists to this day: the pursuit of a very cheap, expendable 

UAV.

Stimulated by the Army’s ambitious SD series during the late 1950s, 

the Marine Corps decided to pursue its own drone to look over the next 

ridge.76 Marines examining the Army’s UAV development efforts judged 

the approach to be too tactically cumbersome and logistically ponderous. 
seeds of a revolution 125

On 20 August 1959, the Marine Corps Landing Force Development Center 

formally submitted a requirement to the Commandant for a “BLT [battalion 

landing team] Drone System” that would be much lighter, cheaper, and 

more mobile than any planned by the Army.77 Major P. X. Kelley in the 

intelligence section of the Marine Corps Landing Force Development 

Center oversaw the program, which competed a conventional, very small 

aircraft design against a motorized hang glider. The hang glider crashed in 

all of its test flights and the Marines had problems ascertaining the location 

of the airplane, so despite the conventional design’s comparative promise, 

Major Kelley recommended the cancellation of both craft.78

The small aircraft design, however, hung on due to the advocacy of 

one lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps intelligence community, and 

the concept took on an official designation as the Lightweight Battlefield 

Surveillance Drone System.79 It was better known by the name Bikini. This 

program reveals what the Marine Corps wanted from a drone and illustrates 

the technological limits that stood in the way of those desires. The attempt 

to build a UAV on the cheap left the Marines with one that could not carry 

out a meaningful military task.

The Lightweight Battlefield Surveillance Drone System requirement 

languished until 1964, when it became the personal interest of Commandant 

of the Marine Corps General Wallace M. Greene, Jr., who, in a Marine 

Corps Gazette article, famously described Bikini as “a small item that 

covers large areas of interest.”80 The design was based on the construction 

techniques used by the radio-controlled airplane hobby industry. Bikini had 

a conventional propeller-driven airframe with a small, eight-foot wingspan, 

sixty-pound launch weight (one man portable), and a top speed of 120 

miles per hour carrying a fifteen-pound payload. A 41⁄2-horsepower, twocycle chainsaw engine provided thrust.81 The operator maintained visual 

contact at all times for the aircraft did not have its own stabilization system 

and remotely activated the parachute recovery system upon termination of 

the mission. To limit costs, the contractor used old military parts and offthe-shelf model airplane components.82 One system, which included two 

aircraft, two cameras, one jeep, and a trailer-mounted launch station, cost 

about $80,000 ($380,000 in 1999 dollars) and required only two operators.83

Every effort was made to make the system economical in design and 

operation. Under the proposed organizational arrangement, the drone 

platoon with one officer, thirty-two enlisted men, and twelve drone systems 

would be attached to the division reconnaissance battalion.84

Only months after the Marine Corps chose Bikini, it conducted a limited 

operational test at the naval test facility in Vieques, Puerto Rico.85 Based 

on the results of that test and about two years of work by the contractor, 
126 Providing the Means of War

the Development Center ran a more comprehensive one-year troop test 

and evaluation at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Those tests showed that 

the maritime environment posed problems for Bikini’s minimalist design 

and that it was ill-suited for combat operations. The drone could not be 

operated in twenty-knot winds and salt water corroded its light magnesium 

wings and internal electronics.86 Recovery problems plagued the test; the 

simple drone had no data link, therefore recovery of the camera was of 

paramount importance. The project officer called parachute recovery “the 

most serious deficiency in the entire test program.”87 On several occasions, 

the parachutes popped out for no apparent reason, a problem finally 

traced to federal revenue agents in the local hills using radios on the same 

frequency, a bad portent should a determined enemy conduct electronic 

countermeasures.88 Parachute problems resulted in ten of the twenty-two 

test aircraft crashing, and by the end of the test, only six aircraft remained.89

Bikini’s range limitations caused problems as well. In tests to determine 

the utility of launching Bikini from an offshore landing craft for beach 

reconnaissance, the 1,200-yard visual range limitation brought the landing 

craft within easy reach of enemy small artillery, making the drone platform 

what the project officer called “an excellent target.”90 Despite all these 

problems, the project officer thought the drone had real promise and asked 

for more improvements and testing.

General Greene retired on 31 December 1967 before all the required 

modifications were made. Bikini lost its sponsor, and the program began to 

unravel. Additional requirements added enough weight to the system that 

a jeep could no longer pull the launch trailer. The Vietnam War was in full 

swing and the Army had canceled its drone programs and turned to manned 

reconnaissance aircraft, so the general environment for battlefield drone 

systems was gloomy. In one of his early decisions as Commandant, General 

Leonard F. Chapman, Jr. canceled Bikini.91

Based on the experience with Bikini, the Marine Corps decided it 

needed a drone with more capability. It wanted at least four hours of 

endurance, greater payload capacity, an infrared imager, and moving 

target indicator (MTI) sensors.92 The greater range required a much more 

sophisticated autopilot in order to gain greater location accuracy. All this 

meant more money. Unwilling to develop that capability on their own, the 

Marines waited until an acceptable UAV landed in their lap. For now their 

brief foray into unmanned aviation ended with a whimper.

It is of great analytical interest that, in contrast to the Army, which 

first designed its SD series UAVs to perform a certain mission, then let 

requirements for manning and logistics evolve, the Marine Corps laid down 

its very slim manning and weight requirements and waited to see how much 
seeds of a revolution 127

drone it could get. This early Marine Corps attempt to fashion a drone 

system in its image defined the limits of its willingness to adapt. It revealed 

that if Marines wanted more drone capability, they would have to endure 

greater organizational distortions, distortions they were unwilling to face in 

the absence of strong backing from the commandant.

In keeping with its penchant for economy, the Marine Corps tried hard 

to hold down cost and weight. The Marines had to accede to the fact that a 

bigger, more complex UAV system was needed to do meaningful combat 

tasks. They were not immune to UAV requirements expansion, but they 

were unwilling to develop a proper system. The cheap, expendable UAV 

embodied by Bikini could not deliver militarily useful service in any but the 

most optimal circumstances, a lesson the Marines had to relearn numerous 

times in years to come.

Conclusion

This short article covers the landmark sea service drone acquisition 

programs of the 1960s and emphasizes how each of those programs led to 

technical breakthroughs and institutional enthusiasm, only to be followed 

by disillusionment and program failure. Contrary to popular mythology 

about the “white scarf syndrome,” in which pilots overtly obstruct drone 

acquisition for fear of losing their jobs, the obstructionism of the aviation 

community—although reinforced by cultural prejudices—stemmed from 

practical concerns about limited drone capabilities. 

Acquisition professionals in the Navy and Marine Corps faced a drone 

dilemma that was shared by industry: drone designs were found to be 

either phenomenally expensive (and hence inefficient), or inexpensive and 

militarily ineffective. As such, there was much more to the failure of these 

systems than the entrenched hostility of aviators. Technological immaturity 

in key elements of drone design meant that no acquisition team could find a 

way to overcome the problems that marked drone development. 

In addition to the real technological limitations on these early drone 

programs, however, the military services demonstrated unique patterns of 

behavior in drone development and integration that shaped each program 

outcome, sometimes leading to unnecessary obstruction. Those servicespecific patterns of weapon system innovation behavior constitute the most 

important message in this paper and suggest that the informed acquisition 

official must understand the special functions, organizational structures, 

and cultures of the military services to best guide a system through the 

acquisition maze. In the final analysis, the various drones of the 1960s 

that were developed by the sea services were seductive technological 
128 Providing the Means of War

systems that failed to bridge the gap between developmental innovation and 

operational realities. An innovative system must find consonance with the 

operational rhythms of its primary customer in order to graduate to legacy 

status. In the end, neither DASH nor Bikini could make that claim, and after 

their demise it would take decades before another system (Pioneer) would 

make comparable inroads.
seeds of a revolution 129

Notes

1

 A coaxial helicopter uses counterrotating rotor blades to neutralize 

rotational forces and provide freedom from vibration. With a conventional 

helicopter, the tail rotor provides steering and opposition to main rotor 

torque. The Gyrodyne Company of America pursued the coaxial rotor 

concept while others settled on the single-blade-with-tail-rotor design due 

to problems with coaxial auto-rotation or power-off descent. Jack Kestner, 

“DASH Nest Becoming Haven for Ghosts,” Long Island Ledger-Star, 28 

September 1971: B-1. 2

 This figure does not include the cost of converting destroyers with 

landing decks, storage, etc. Jack Pappas, Navy officer assigned to initial 

DASH detail, e-mail to the author, 25 February 1999; Jack Kestner, “Navy 

Dumps DASH After $250 Million Cost,” Long Island Ledger-Star, 27 

September 1971: B-1.

3

 The growth of helicopter aviation, an innovative weapon system 

in its own right, contrasts with that of UAVs. The lack of congressional 

scrutiny in the 1950s allowed the services to pursue overlapping programs 

that advanced the state of the art and helped the services come to terms 

with the newfangled machines. The Air Force did not materially suppress 

the expansion of rotary winged aviation, and because helicopters (DASH 

excepted) required pilots, all the services developed internal constituencies. 

Helicopters gained a foothold in all three services and remain a part of their 

operational designs. 4

 Helicopter aviation in the Navy started in 1912 with an investment 

of $50 for helicopter models constructed by a machinist’s mate from the 

U.S.S. West Virginia. Although the Navy bought an autogyro (a propellerdriven aircraft using rotary blades for lift—technically a rotary-winged 

aircraft) in 1931, the first conventional naval helicopter was a Sikorsky 

YR–4B (Navy designation, HNS–1) for air-sea rescue, accepted in 1943. 

Roy A. Grossnick, United States Naval Aviation 1910–1995, 4th ed. 

(Washington, D.C.: Naval Historical Center, 1997), 8, 79, 131. 5

 The first experimental naval helicopter operations were conducted by 

the British Navy in 1947, but the Canadian Navy was the first to deploy 

operational manned helicopters on its escort vessels in the late 1950s. It 

bears noting that U.S. naval aviators allowed another country to be the 

innovators in a form of aviation (helicopters) they found to be inferior. 

This same “wait and see” attitude confronted the UAV, perhaps with a 

longer waiting period attached. Edward A. Morgan, “The DASH Weapons 

System,” Naval Institute Proceedings (January 1963): 151–52. Lieutenant 

Morgan was the DASH project officer for the U.S.S. Hazelwood. Ironically, 
130 Providing the Means of War

the article following Morgan’s piece in Proceedings was titled, “Neglect of 

the Human Element.”

6

 The joint Army-Navy (Kaman-built) HTK performed the first 

unmanned helicopter flight from a ship on 30 July 1957 after a two-year 

development program. Grossnick, United States Naval Aviation, 219; 

“Drone Helicopter,” Military Review (May 1955): 67; “Variety of Missions 

Seen for Copter Drone,” Army-Navy-Air Force Journal 21 (July 1956): 

11. Naval historian Norman Friedman gives the date of the HTK–1’s flight 

from the U.S.S. Mitscher as May 1957. Norman Friedman, U.S. Destroyers: 

An Illustrated Design History (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 

1982), 281.

7

 The Marine Corps pushed for helicopters after the Korean War to gain 

the operational mobility required for amphibious operations in a nuclear 

environment. Peter B. Mersky, U.S. Marine Corps Aviation 1912 to the 

Present (Annapolis, Md.: Nautical and Aviation Publishing Co., 1983), 

123–28, 192.

8

 The project was called Operation Fly-Swatter. John C. Devlin, 

“’Copter-Destroyer Team Shown as New Navy Submarine Killer,” New 

York Times, 23 August 1958: A24.

9

 The QHB sonar worked out to 1,800 yards at twenty knots, but an 

attack solution required a depth-determining fire control sonar (Mk 102, 

linked by analog computer using 2,300 vacuum tubes) with a 1,500-yard 

range. Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 279. These highly sophisticated sensorcomputer systems forced the surface warfare community to undergo a 

cultural shift in which it either had to embrace technology or continue in 

relative decline in the naval hierarchy. The technological dynamism of 

the default anti-submarine mission catapulted the “black-shoe” navy into 

the information age. For a clear, accessible explanation of sonar signal 

processing over the years, see Norman Friedman, Submarine Design and 

Development (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1984), 149–50.

10 Chuck Hansen, U.S. Nuclear Weapons: The Secret History

(Arlington, Tex.: Aerofax, 1988), 208.

11 ASROC was not fully developed until production started in 1961. 

That first model sported a one-kiloton nuclear warhead. Some 574 nuclear 

ASROCs were built between 1961 and 1968. Hansen, U.S. Nuclear 

Weapons, 208.

12 Like many of the Soviet scares of the day, this one stemmed more 

from hysteria and attempts to capture budget share than from hard facts. In 

fairness, hard facts were tough to come by. The Office of Naval Intelligence 

grossly overestimated the Soviet submarine threat even as the Soviets 
seeds of a revolution 131

cut back their submarine force due to internal economic tradeoffs. We 

now know that the Soviet submarine force reached a peak of 473 boats 

(much lower than projected) in 1957 when Nikita Khrushchev cut back 

submarine production as part of a de-emphasis on non-nuclear weaponfiring platforms. Norman Friedman, Submarine Design and Development,

101. Ironically, U.S. systems procured as a result of these scares (e.g., 

Minuteman ICBMs, B–52 Stratofortresses, ASW helicopters, sophisticated 

sonar) performed yeoman duty when Soviet military spending expanded in 

the post-Khrushchev era.

13 Soviet submarine designers emphasized underwater dash speed over 

quieting, which has some operational advantages. Although detectable, the 

submarine could simply outrun a short-range torpedo if ASROC or DASH 

dropped it far enough away from its location. For an excellent description 

of the operational and technological variables in ASW, see Friedman, 

Submarine Design and Development, 171–80. 14 Ibid., 280.

15 The Burke legend came from his ability to coax maximum speed 

from his destroyers. Admiral Nimitz tagged Burke with the “31 Knot” 

moniker after an incident during World War II. E. B. Potter, Admiral 

Arleigh Burke (New York: Random House, 1990), 102–03.

16 He added, “We must detect, identify, and destroy a submarine at 

10,000 yards [5.7 miles] with an integrated weapon system.” Ken Jones 

and Hubert Kelley, Jr., Admiral Arleigh (31 Knot) Burke: The Story of a 

Fighting Sailor (New York: Chilton, 1962), 187–88.

17 FRAM Mark I extended the life of forty-nine destroyers by eight 

years by rebuilding superstructures, rehabilitating engines and electronics, 

and installing ASROC launchers and DASH at a cost of $7.7 million per 

ship. FRAM II extended 113 destroyers’ useful lives five years by installing 

a new sonar and the drone anti-submarine helicopter (DASH) at a cost of 

$4.5 million per ship. Only eight destroyers underwent FRAM Mark III 

modifications. Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 285–90. The ASROC is a shiplaunched ballistic missile that carries an ordinary acoustic homing torpedo. 

The missile has a range of about ten kilometers. After it is fired, it follows 

a ballistic trajectory to the vicinity of the target, guided by an onboard 

computer. At that point, the rocket and torpedo separate. The torpedo is 

lowered by parachute to the ocean and, once submerged, follows a regular 

search pattern. Kosta Tsipis, Tactical and Strategic Antisubmarine Warfare

(Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1974), 32; see also Norman Polmar, The 

Ships and Aircraft of the U.S. Fleet, 12th ed. (Annapolis, Md.: Naval 

Institute Press, 1981), 332.

18 Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 285; Pappas interview.
132 Providing the Means of War

19 James Q. Wilson, “Innovation in Organization: Notes Toward a 

Theory,” in James D. Thompson, ed., Approaches to Organizational Design

(Pittsburgh, Pa.: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1966), 204.

20 Burke presided over an amazing transformation of naval technology. 

During his watch the Navy incorporated digital computers, the first guidedmissile frigates and destroyers, nuclear-powered cruisers, the first nuclearpowered aircraft carrier, submarine-launched ballistic missiles—as his 

biographers put it, “new ships, new equipment, new strategy, new tactics.” 

Jones and Kelley, Admiral Arleigh (31 Knot) Burke, 186–87. 21 Everett M. Rogers, The Diffusion of Innovations, 3d ed. (New York: 

The Free Press, 1983), 248. 22 Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 281; United States General Accounting 

Office, “Adverse Effects of Producing Drone Anti-Submarine Helicopters 

Before Completion of Development and Tests” (Washington, D.C.: GAO

Report B-160877, 31 December 1970), 8.

23 Morgan, “The DASH Weapons System,” 152; Friedman, U.S. 

Destroyers, 281; John W. R. Taylor, ed., Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft 

1970–1971 (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1971), 539. 24 GAO Report B-160877, 10. Norman Polmar reported the first flights 

took place one day later on 8 December. Norman Polmar, “Ups and Downs 

of the Drone Helicopter,” Aerospace International (April 1967): 24.

25 The term sea state comes from the Beaufort Scale, created in 1805 by 

Sir Francis Beaufort. Each numerical sea state, or force, from zero through 

12, equates to a wind speed and wave height, zero being complete calm and 

12 being hurricane conditions. DASH could only be recovered in sea state 

3 (moderate sea, four-foot waves); however, the contractor was exploring 

a cable system for reeling in the drone in high seas. Larry Booda, “DASH 

Will Be Operational in December,” Aviation Week & Space Technology (1 

July 1963): 32.

26 The turbine (jet) engine allowed the use of heavy fuel (kerosenebased jet fuel, or diesel), which proved critical to shipboard UAV 

operations, as it poses much less fire hazard than does aviation gasoline. It 

does contain less energy per unit volume, however. The Mark 44 was the 

first standard size ASW torpedo, weighing in at 425 pounds. The newer 

Mark 46 weighed 568 pounds and became the standard, with a 12,000 yard 

range at 45 knots. The nuclear depth charge scheduled for DASH, called 

“Lulu,” was actually in service with the Navy from 1957–1971. Lulu had 

a 5–10 kiloton (selectable) fission warhead (the B57) with a depth pressure 

fuze. Friedman, Submarine Design and Development, 173–74, 177; Thomas 

B. Cochran, William M. Arkin, and Milton M. Hoenig, Nuclear Weapons 

Databook, Vol. 1 (Cambridge, Mass.: Ballinger, 1984), 63.
seeds of a revolution 133

27 Polmar, “Ups and Downs,” 24–25.

28 Jack Pappas, still an ardent DASH advocate, says the control 

system was archaic and could not withstand the rigors of sea duty. Pappas 

interview.

29 President Kennedy requested Burke stay on for yet another two years, 

but he refused, naming Anderson as one of his potential replacements. 

Anderson had served his first three years on a cruiser as a surface sailor, 

but transferred to flight school and remained in the carrier navy thereafter. 

Lawrence J. Korb, “George Whalen Anderson, Jr., 1 August 1961–1 

August 1963,” in Chiefs of Naval Operations, ed. Robert William Love, Jr. 

(Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1980), 321–30.

30 GAO Report B-160877, 8–9.

31 Booda, “DASH Will Be Operational,” 32.

32 GAO Report B-160877, 16.

33 Ibid., 17.

34 Polmar, “Ups and Downs,” 25.

35 Louis C. Gerken, UAV—Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (Chula Vista, 

Calif.: American Scientific Corporation, 1991), 7.

36 Ted Baker, skipper of the frigate U.S.S. Bronstein (FF–1037), the 

last ship in the fleet outfitted with two DASH air vehicles, interview with 

the author, 8 April 1999. The “will of its own” quip comes from a 250-

page treatment of ASW aircraft in which the DASH system received but 

one sentence despite its eight-year service. Alfred Price, Aircraft Versus 

Submarine: The Evolution of the Anti-Submarine Aircraft 1912–1972

(Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1973), 245.

37 Richard Friichtenicht, Navy RPV program manager, 1976–1978, 

interview with the author, 10 September 1998.

38 A Bureau of Weapons memo listed the approved upgrades to the 

“C”-model DASH as 1) a new engine; 2) larger gas tank; 3) elimination of 

tail section; 4) various cosmetic modifications to fuselage, relay box, and 

repositioning of avionics for balance purposes. BUWEPS Notice 13100, 

“Model QH–50D Aircraft; establishment of model designation,” 17 August 

1964 (NHC archives, QH–50C file). The General Accounting Office also 

hinted at this problem, stating “many of the [electronic] deficiencies found in 

the QH–50D were of the same type found in the QH–50C during its Board of 

Inspection and Survey trials.” GAO Report B-160877, 14; Pappas interview.

39 As happened in the Army’s Aquila program where Aviation Systems 

Command originally built the airframe, the Navy’s Bureau of Aeronautics 

built DASH even though the system was operated by surface community 

officers. The surface community’s Bureau of Ships handled installation of 

DASH hangars and equipment aboard FRAM destroyers.
134 Providing the Means of War

40 “Gouge” is a maritime slang term meaning, loosely, “the inside word.”

41 When his crew flew DASH, Walker wore one black shoe (of the 

surface warfare community) and one brown shoe (of the aviation 

community). George Walker, Captain (U.S. Navy, retired), skipper of the 

U.S.S. Arnold J. Isbell, DD–869), interview with the author, 23 March 1999. 42 Ibid.

43 Baker blames his youth (he was only a lieutenant commander) for his 

enthusiasm for DASH. “I was very young and wet behind the ears,” Baker 

said, “and we [the crew] had a lot of spirit, we wanted to be the best with 

DASH, and we were.” Baker interview. 44 Ibid.

45 Ibid.

46 Message, CINCPACFLT to CNO, “DASH WEAPONS SYSTEM 

SUPPORT, PERS REQMTS (U),” 31 July 1964 (NHC archives, DASH 

folder).

47 Message, CNO to CINCPACFLT and CINCLANTFLT, “DASH 

PROGRAM (U),” 4 August 1964 (NHC archives). Admiral Anderson did 

not receive the customary request for a second two-year term as CNO

due to his acrimonious relationship with Secretary of Defense Robert 

McNamara. Korb, “George Whalen Anderson, Jr.,” 329.

48 Bill Weesner, “Dam Neck Trains DASH Crews,” Naval Aviation 

News, March 1964: 19. The DASH operator was not an aviator, yet flying 

the drone involved tremendous aviation skill. “It took more than electromechanical skill to fly one of those things well,” says DASH operator 

Jack Pappas. “It took courage to land that thing, to stand out there with 

helicopter blades spinning 600 miles per hour not far from your head, with 

two torpedoes loaded, negotiating the burble [air currents flowing around 

the ship’s superstructure], with the ship rocking all over the place. Every 

flight was exciting.” Pappas interview. Given these challenges, it is not 

hard to understand how, with more than 100 DASH systems in the fleet, the 

percentage of DASH crews truly proficient in its operation was very, very 

low.

49 Jack Pappas, “Rebuttal to McNamara Statement” (personal files), ca. 

1967.

50 He recommended the DASH introduction rate be reduced 

to one per month to address the training deficiencies. Naval Message, 

COMCRUDESLANT to CINCLANTFLT (no title), 10 May 1965, 2130Z 

(NHC archives, DASH folder).

51 In-born skill, intensive training, and many flight hours made a huge 

difference with DASH, as it does in all flight operations. Society makes 

the first quality rare, but the Navy failed to supply the second and third. 
seeds of a revolution 135

Two DASH ship captains agree. Baker only allowed his one lieutenant 

(Ammens) to operate DASH because others, although technically qualified, 

did not have the gift for it. “He was rare—he would be good at computer 

games if he was a kid today.” He also made a point to fly the DASH often 

despite the threat it posed to his career. Baker interview. George Walker 

had a rusty DASH crew when he took over the U.S.S. Isbell, but he flew 

the helicopter whenever possible, even maintaining a DASH in the air 

continuously for forty hours at one point. Walker interview. Neither skipper 

lost a DASH on his watch.

52 Jay Bornfleth, e-mail, 13 August 1998.

53 Polmar, “Ups and Downs,” 26.

54 Walker interview.

55 Baker interview.

56 Norman Polmar, interview with the author, 12 May 1998. Ironically, 

one of the reasons flight operations are heavy early in the cruise is to 

improve pilot and carrier crew proficiency, which obviously came at 

DASH’s expense. 57 “Manned Helicopters May Replace DASH,” Aviation Week & Space 

Technology (3 February 1964). The original manned helicopter project was 

called the light airborne attack vehicle (LAAV), but aviators added the 

mission of Styx missile defense in addition to its ASW duties to make it 

more palatable, thus the “multi-purpose” in its acronym. Norman Friedman, 

U.S. Naval Weapons (London: Conway Maritime Press, 1983), 110.

58 The World War II-era FRAM destroyers averaged 3,000 tons and 380 

feet long, whereas their replacements displaced 4,100 tons and measured 

almost 440 feet in length. Polmar, “Ups and Downs,” 24.

59 The article notes that manned helicopter operations from Navy 

destroyers started in Vietnam in August 1965 in various rescue and utility 

duties and that the Navy was more comfortable with the concept. “Navy 

Cuts Purchases of Drone Antisub Helicopter; ASROC Favored,” Aviation 

Daily (21 June 1966): 1.

60 The SQS–26 sonar allowed contacts using direct path (traditional) 

sonar, convergence zone (windows of detection due to wave bending), 

and bottom bounce. Convergence zone and bottom bounce modes proved 

tactically challenging and difficult in practice. Like DASH, the concept was 

sound but problematic in practice. Unlike DASH, the sonar did not crash. 

Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 284; Baker interview.

61 Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 284. The U.S.S. Bronstein was built for 

the SQS–26 and was commissioned on 15 June 1963. Norman Polmar et 

al., Chronology of the Cold War at Sea: 1945–1991 (Annapolis, Md.: Naval 

Institute Press, 1998), 79.
136 Providing the Means of War

62 Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 283. The data link was too large to fit on 

DASH and too unreliable and weak to transfer all the required information 

to DASH remote operators. LAMPS Mark I had a two-man crew, a pilot, 

and an airborne tactical officer. DASH backers did attempt to deploy a 

sonabuoy called LORELI that failed due to DASH’s inherent payload 

limitations. Friedman, U.S. Naval Weapons, 129.

63 Even the latest ASW helicopter, LAMPS Mark III, came onboard 

largely because new passive, towed sonar arrays in the 1970s pushed 

detection out even farther, requiring a larger, even more capable helicopter. 

John R. Bush, “Aviation Squadron Organization: Development of the 

Navy’s Light Airborne Multi-Purpose System (LAMPS) Mk III” (DTIC 

ADA113863) thesis, Naval Postgraduate School, 1981: 14, 23; Friedman,

Submarine Design and Development, 149.

64 Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 286.

65 Ibid., 129. This decision looks specious in light of the terrible 

accuracy ASROC would achieve in bad weather with the tossing and 

turning of the ship throwing off its delivery. Nevertheless, due to this 

decision ASROC was able to act as a plausible bridge to LAMPS.

66 The record on this count is murky. Contractor paperwork revealed 

that by 1970 “[E]ngineering and tests to provide the [DASH] with the 

capability to carry a special weapon were successfully completed.” Peter 

J. Papadakos, Letter to C. M. Bailey (GAO), 4 May 1970, in Appendix I 

of GAO Report B-160877, 40. The Navy conducted only one live nuclear 

ASROC shot on 11 May 1962, just prior to the enactment of the Nuclear 

Test Ban treaty. Friedman, U.S. Destroyers, 286; Pappas interview.

67 ASROC’s one claim to innovative status might be its nuclear 

capability.

68 A cost analysis showed DASH cost $650 per attack compared to the 

expensive ASROC. Friedman, U.S. Naval Weapons, 129.

69 The Navy retired the last nuclear ASROCs in 1989. Norman 

Friedman, The Naval Institute Guide to World Naval Weapons Systems 

1991/92 (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1991), 690. ASROC was 

cut from the 1993 budget and left the fleet soon thereafter. 

70 GAO Report B-160877, 18; 90th Cong., 1st sess., U.S. Senate, 

“Hearings Before the Subcommittee of the Committee on Appropriations” 

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1967), 106; Jack Kestner, “Navy Dumps DASH 

After $250 Million Cost.” The Ledger-Star was the hometown newspaper 

of VU–3, the DASH squadron.

71 GAO Report B-160877, 18.

72 A project office memorandum challenged the reliability charge, 

saying the drone exceeded standards established in two 1961 studies 
seeds of a revolution 137

upon which the drone was accepted into the fleet. Pappas, “Rebuttal to 

McNamara Statement.”

73 In 1963, Secretary of Defense McNamara had approved DASH 

funding for 600 air vehicles, 21⁄2 for each of 240 destroyers and other 

escorts. Booda, “DASH Will Be Operational,” 32. The Navy reduced 

DASH deployments sharply in June 1966, just prior to McNamara’s 

announcement, listing ASROC as “a better way of doing [ASW].” “Navy 

Cuts Purchases of Drone Antisub Helicopter; ASROC Favored,” Aviation 

Daily (21 June 1966): 1.

74 Peter P. Papadakos, executive director, Gyrodyne Helicopter 

Historical Foundation, e-mail to author, 11 January 2004. 75 Among them was a DASH modified with a real-time television 

data link to provide Marine artillery spotting in Vietnam called Snoopy. 

“Derivatives of DASH,” Appendix I, GAO Report B-160877, 42.

76 Whereas Army literature is replete with references to “looking over 

the next hill,” Marines typically want to “look over the next ridge.” Ron 

Rivers, “What’s Over the Next Ridge?” Marines (May 1986): 22–23. 77 “Operational Evaluation of the Lightweight Battlefield Surveillance 

Drone System, Final Report” Quantico, Va.: Marine Corps Landing Force 

Development Center, 1964 (DTIC ADB211944), 2; John B. Moriarty, 

Project Officer, “Troop Test of the Lightweight Battlefield Surveillance 

Drone, Final Report,” Quantico, Va.: Marine Corps Landing Force 

Development Center, August 1967 (Moriarty personal records), 4.

78 According to Kelley, “We never knew where the hell the thing 

was,” so they used a stopwatch and the airplane’s nominal eighty-knot 

airspeed to calculate its position on a map. They also employed an expert 

radio-controlled aircraft pilot who could make the aircraft do acrobatic 

maneuvers, but Kelley doubted whether Marines could be trained to an 

acceptable level of proficiency. P. X. Kelley, General, USMC (retired), 

commandant of the Marine Corps and former test manager for both drone 

programs, interview with the author, 8 February 2000.

79 Ibid.

80 L. P. Charon, “Front-Line Photo Drone Ready for Robot Recon,” 

Marine Corps Gazette (August 1966): 38; Wallace M. Greene, Jr., General, 

USMC (retired), commandant of the Marine Corps from 1 January 1964 

through 31 December 1967, interview, 2 April 1999. The Office of Naval 

Research initiated a feasibility contract with Republic in 1960 and flight 

tests commenced by early 1962. The early tests focused on radar tracking 

for the drone in order to increase its range, but the Marine Corps judged the 

additional equipment as being too cumbersome. “History and Description 

of Marine Corps Battalion Landing Team Aerial Drone Reconnaissance 
138 Providing the Means of War

System (U),” Farmingdale, N.Y.: Republic Aviation Corporation (DTIC 

AD344655), 5 February 1963: 1.

81 Most modern UAVs power onboard systems using an alternator, 

which robs some thrust to provide electrical power. Bikini powered 

its camera and flight actuators using batteries. When the batteries ran 

low, the drone popped a recovery parachute. Battery problems plagued 

early prototypes, so the contractor (Republic) added a much larger, 

41⁄2-horsepower engine and alternator which caused weight growth and 

affected overall performance and portability. “Operational Evaluation,” 4; 

Moriarty, “Troop Test,” 2.

82 John W. R. Taylor, ed., Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft 1966–67 (New 

York: McGraw-Hill, 1966), 375. Bikini appeared in Jane’s All the World’s 

Aircraft through the 1968–69 edition. The design used a standard AN/M–4 

flame-thrower compressor to provide launch power and a Sidewinder 

missile 28-volt alternator. John B. Moriarty, project test officer, Lightweight 

Battlefield Surveillance Drone System, interview with the author, 6 April 

1999.

83 The approximate cost for each component was as follows: 

aircraft—$7,500 ($36,000 in 1999 dollars); camera—$7,500; 

launcher—$50,000. A planned film processing station would have added 

additional cost. Moriarty interview.

84 Moriarty, “Troop Test,” Appendix E. 85 This first operational utility test was conducted 6–14 October 1964. 

“Operational Evaluation,” 2.

86 Moriarty, “Troop Test,” A-8-5, C-2-1.

87 Ibid., C-3-1.

88 Moriarty interview.

89 The drones averaged 14.9 flights before crashing, falling just below 

the required threshold of 15. Moriarty, “Troop Test,” B-1, B-2.

90 Ibid., A-24-1.

91 Moriarty interview.

92 J. H. Brown, R. G. Ollila, and R. D. Minckler, “A Survey and 

Technical Systems Assessment of Drone Aircraft for Tactical 

Reconnaissance and Surveillance,” Vol. 1, Battelle Columbus Laboratories 

Tactical Technology Center, Columbus, Ohio: Advanced Research Projects 

Agency Report 1541 (February 1972), E-1.
Part III

Retrenchment and Reform

Defense Acquisition in the 1970s: 

Retrenchment and Reform 

Shannon A. Brown with Walton S. Moody

Marked by high-profile procurement controversies, political and 

economic fallout from a postwar drawdown, and numerous reform and 

realignment efforts championed by the executive branch and Congress, the 

1970s can be characterized as a decade of retrenchment and reform for the 

defense acquisition community. During the 1970s, defense acquisition was 

subjected to intense scrutiny and criticism by both the government and the 

American public, with reform proposals coming from diverse sources. These 

criticisms had a role in bringing about changes to the defense acquisition 

process that were meaningful departures from the established approach to 

developing and buying weapons. These changes included new management, 

oversight, and reporting requirements that reflected the evolving priorities of 

the Department of Defense (DoD) after the Vietnam War. 

During the 1970s, the acquisition process was shaped by periodic 

efforts on the part of both the government and private industry to streamline 

the linkages between commercial firms and the Defense Department, but 

these measures often proved to be uneven prescriptions of administrative 

decentralization and fiscal retrenchment that reflected the political 

predilections of Congress and the Nixon, Ford, and Carter administrations. 

Other considerations influenced the acquisition process. New research, 

development, and production demands emerged as the country adopted a 

strategic orientation that gave renewed importance to the NATO alliance 

and other overseas commitments. By the end of the decade, such terms as 

“prototyping” had been introduced (or, in some instances, reintroduced) 

into the acquisition lexicon, and the community was working hard to 

improve the overall process and embrace these new requirements and 

priorities. At the same time, defense acquisition programs were enhanced 

by new computer and manufacturing technologies but undermined by the 
142 Providing the Means of War

fiscal austerity and inflation that came to characterize the latter half of the 

decade.

This chapter examines the pressures on the acquisition community 

to perform ever more complicated tasks amid increasing public and 

government scrutiny—and the responses to this changing situation that 

the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD), the services, Congress, 

and industry devised to navigate among them. This decade of reform 

and retrenchment in many ways focused and renewed the acquisition 

community, bridging the previous years, whose legacy seemed clouded in 

scandalously lax practices, and the high-tech, high-dollar decades that lay 

ahead. Changes in policy, practice, and technology all contributed to this 

transformation of the community. 

The Nixon Doctrine

1970s acquisition reforms were set amid external changes that put 

additional pressures on the acquisition community, which consisted of 

industrial firms, subcontractors, and consultancies, as well as government 

offices. New U.S. foreign policies, undertaken as the United States was 

reducing its commitments to Southeast Asia, affected the acquisition 

community early in the decade. In his State of the Union address delivered 

on 20 January 1972, President Richard M. Nixon stressed his Realistic 

Program of Foreign Assistance, which included provisions for loans and 

grants-in-aid, foreign military sales (FMS), military technology licensing, 

and technology transfer to key allies. Nixon’s pledge of support to allies 

was reflected in the FY 1973 Annual Report, in which Secretary of Defense 

Melvin R. Laird noted that “for the first time, planning for FY 1973 military 

assistance and credit sales took place within the Department of Defense 

Planning, Programming, and Budgeting System.”1

 The Nixon Doctrine, as 

this broad international security assistance program became known, had 

important ramifications for the American defense industrial base. Defense 

companies that faced sales problems as the Department of Defense reduced 

hardware inventories or limited purchases got some relief from overseas 

sales. As retrenchment measures curtailed defense spending, inflation and 

the post-Vietnam War drawdown ate away at the bottom lines of leading 

prime contractors. Licensing, foreign sales programs, and technology 

transfer programs were expanded, with the effect of keeping some U.S. 

defense companies solvent.

Encouraged by the Nixon Doctrine, “coproduction” programs were 

one form of overseas assistance that had implications for U.S. acquisitions. 

In 1973, for example, the U.S. Air Force and the Northrop Corporation 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 143

promoted the “Peace Tiger” and “Peace Alps” coproduction schemes in 

Taiwan and Switzerland, respectively. The two programs were different in 

approach and execution, but had similar objectives: to allow foreign states 

to manufacture F–5 fighter aircraft. 

In the Taiwanese case, a manufacturing facility was established at 

Taichung to produce, from raw materials, fuselage sections of the F–5. 

Engines and technical support were provided by the U.S. Air Force through 

a government-furnished equipment arrangement, while Northrop provided 

the Taiwanese factory with airframes, equipment, and tooling under direct 

contract with the government of the Republic of China. The initial Peace 

Tiger studies were conducted in the summer of 1973; within a few years, 

“when Northrop had high production runs to satisfy many customers, 

the Taiwan coproduction line was treated as another part of the Northrop 

production line, tied by a rather long umbilical cord.”2

 By this innovative 

approach of decentralized international aircraft production, the U.S. defense 

acquisition community found itself providing management and technical 

assistance to foreign engineering teams working on American-designed, 

locally manufactured hardware. The Taiwanese logistics system was, 

in fact, modeled on the Air Force Logistics Command (AFLC), and the 

co-production agreement allowed Taiwanese representatives to requisition 

items from AFLC’s inventory.3

Military sales and transfers to other Asian countries had more farreaching implications for the defense acquisition community and changed 

much more than the practice of acquisition. Technology transfers to Japan, 

which were made through direct sales and licensing deals authorized by 

OSD transformed the island nation from a client into a competitor for 

U.S. defense industrial base firms.4

 Similarly, Singapore benefited from 

the transfer of technology and defense industrial base-related work to the 

Pacific Rim, as U.S. firms secured a foothold in the “Lion City,” first in 

support of U.S. operations in Southeast Asia and subsequently to provide 

services to the growing Singapore armed forces. It was during the mid- to 

late 1970s that the economy of Singapore, bolstered by inflows of foreign 

investment, could support a military modernization program. The United 

States (as well as Great Britain and Israel) moved to provide Singapore with 

the resources and materiel necessary to create a modern force.5

In the Middle East, the United States also found a ready market for 

military technology, and U.S. suppliers were happy to act on the Nixon 

Doctrine to provide support to Saudi Arabia, which was, despite tensions 

over increasing oil and energy prices, a key U.S. ally in the region. Widely 

cited as a bulwark against the radical Islamic fundamentalism and corrosive 

socialist ideologies that were taking hold in the Middle East, Saudi Arabia 
144 Providing the Means of War

obtained approximately $34 billion in American military hardware between 

1973 and 1980, through foreign military sales programs and transfers. 

The technology obtained by the Saudis was far from obsolescent; during 

the 1970s, the Saudi air force modernized with F–5s and, at the end of 

the decade, far more advanced F–15s. One observer noted that the Saudi 

military buildup was so rapid that, by 1977, “even if Saudi Arabia were 

to receive no more military equipment it would take six years for existing 

personnel to be able to use already bought technology.”6

 Such massive 

procurement programs had a definite influence on the U.S. acquisition 

community, as both the market and the production of defense materials 

became increasingly international during the 1970s. 

Fitzgerald and Packard

In keeping with the received wisdom on the Nixon presidency in 

general, the well-conceived, even innovative, international sales 

arrangements contrasted sharply with the domestic defense acquisition 

situation. As it happened, when Nixon took office in 1969, the acquisition 

community was already in turmoil, the result of a high-profile controversy 

that began in mid–1968, when A. Ernest Fitzgerald, deputy for Management 

Systems in the Office of the Assistant Secretary of the Air Force for 

Financial Management, first testified before Congress about cost overruns 

on the C–5A cargo aircraft program. His appearances before congressional 

panels resulted in a series of investigations that proved to be very 

embarrassing for the Air Force and the Lockheed Corporation, prime 

contractor for the C–5A. Subsequent allegations were made that, after 

testifying, Fitzgerald was the subject of career reprisals by the Air Force’s 

senior leadership. These accusations only drew more public attention to 

the controversy.7

 Before long, William Proxmire (D–WI), the chair of 

the congressional committee that had summoned Fitzgerald to testify, 

was calling for more direct legislative oversight of all major acquisition 

programs and insisting on a follow-up investigation of Fitzgerald’s 

treatment at the hands of the Air Force.8

The C–5A drama was heightened by Fitzgerald’s public portrayal as a 

dedicated civil servant who signed on as an Air Force cost analyst in order 

to root out fraud and waste, presumably with the support and blessings 

of his superiors. He had earned a solid reputation as a cost analyst while 

working on the Minuteman II program in the early 1960s, and his efforts 

were rewarded with a senior civil service appointment in the Air Force 

under Assistant Secretary Robert Charles.9

 The image of the resolute 

analyst, striving to expose bureaucratic waste and military hubris, resonated 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 145

with a public that was already openly critical of antiballistic missile (ABM) 

spending and the ongoing war in Vietnam. Fitzgerald’s testimony was 

lauded by the news media and in several books that were subsequently 

written about the scandal.10 The Proxmire hearings revealed serious flaws 

in the acquisition process, and it fell to the civilian leadership in OSD to 

address these problems and repair the public’s confidence in a process that 

was widely regarded as broken. 

In this connection, President Nixon appointed David Packard, one of 

the founders of the Hewlett-Packard Corporation and a veritable legend 

in American business circles, to the post of deputy secretary of Defense 

in January 1969. With an extensive business background and a hands-on 

management style that stood in stark contrast with that of former Defense 

Secretary Robert McNamara, Packard seemed like a logical choice to 

tackle the problems of defense acquisition by revising policy and working 

closely with subordinates to repair the cultural rift that had developed 

between the services and OSD during McNamara’s tenure.11 One observer, 

writing in 1972, suggested that Packard was the embodiment of a “cult 

of personality in reverse,” a hero called upon to “put things right for the 

future.”12 Although some expected Packard to follow through on many of 

McNamara’s policy and management goals, he did not seek to preserve 

McNamara’s approach to acquisition. Instead, he began a high-profile 

reform effort aimed at quieting critics and restoring the public’s confidence 

in the Defense Department.13

Deputy Secretary of Defense Packard, speaking before a group of 

defense industrial managers on 20 August 1970, acknowledged this 

crisis of confidence when he confessed, “Frankly, gentlemen, in defense 

procurement, we have a real mess on our hands, and the question you and 

I have to face is what are we going to do to clean it up?”14 His honesty was 

brutal and to the point, and the question no doubt struck a chord with the 

men and women in attendance. After all, these concerns were not limited to 

a small but vocal minority; many within the Department of Defense were 

equally concerned and quietly critical of the acquisition process—a process 

that had been recast by Robert McNamara in the 1960s to give more direct 

policy and program control to the Office of the Secretary of Defense. 

One of Packard’s first major reform gestures was a memorandum, issued 

on 28 May 1970, which outlined eight basic principles that could be reduced 

to simple phrases to serve as signposts for acquisition professionals:15

	 •	 Help the services do a better job.

	 •	 Have good program managers with authority and responsibility.

	 •	 Control cost by trade-offs.
146 Providing the Means of War

	 •	 Make the first decision right.

	 •	 Fly before you buy.

	 •	 Put more emphasis on hardware—less on paper studies.

	 •	 Use the type of contract appropriate for the job.

	 •	 Eliminate Total Package Procurement.

Some of these memo points appeared to be tailored to address criticisms 

made of the C–5A program. The ban on Total Package Procurement (TPP), 

for instance, effectively prohibited the contracting arrangement that many 

associated with that troublesome aircraft.16 Taken as a whole, however, the 

memo’s guidance was written to be sweeping and apply to all acquisition 

activities. The services took immediate notice and hailed the memo as 

an important reform step. One commentator, amused by its reception 

within the halls of the Pentagon, noted that “one is led to believe that this 

memorandum . . . did as much for the history of defense procurement as 

President Nixon’s subsequent visit to mainland China did for the history 

of the world.”17 The Packard memorandum was widely reprinted in service 

and defense acquisition program manager publications, and it became the 

focus of countless management discussions and program improvement 

articles, serving as a kind of blueprint for reforms to the acquisition process 

during the 1970s. 

Less than a year after issuing the memorandum, Packard testified 

before the House Appropriations Committee about its favorable impact. 

During his presentation, Packard provided Congress with a progress 

report, pointing out that the services were implementing the memo’s “fly 

before you buy” language and that acquisition executives were doing 

their best to observe the memo’s contracting guidance. Packard reported 

that, true to his recommendations to the armed forces, the use of Total 

Package Procurement, presumably the root of the C–5A problem, was 

being discontinued except in rare cases “where a contractor obviously 

has adequate resources to absorb . . . loss.” The services were issuing 

contracts that were in compliance with his view that “development 

contracts for new major weapons systems should almost always be costincentive contracts.”18 Packard identified the AX acquisition program, 

as well as the AWACS, F–15, and B–1 aircraft programs, as models of 

effective management and “fly before you buy” (FBYB) evaluation.19 In 

his concluding remarks about ongoing and pending changes to the defense 

acquisition process, Packard was characteristically understated: “I won’t 

claim that this is a managerial revolution—but it is an improvement.”20

Revolution or not, Packard made other important and lasting changes 

to the defense acquisition process before leaving OSD to return to the 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 147

private sector in late 1971. Shortly after taking office, Packard had formed 

the Defense Systems Acquisition Review Council (DSARC) as an advisory 

body reporting to the secretary of Defense. The council, formed in May 

1969, established three progress milestones for acquisition programs, an 

important enhancement to the acquisition process. The milestones were 

defined as “program initiation decision,” “full-scale development decision,” 

and “production decision.” A significant redirection of the acquisition 

process, such aircraft programs as the F–15 and AX (A–10) were managed 

with this milestone approach. The DSARC was part of a longer-term 

scheme to promote a kind of “decentralized centralization” over defense 

acquisition activities.21 OSD retained oversight authority over new 

acquisition programs, but Packard wanted the services to assume a larger 

role in the management of the acquisition process, with many functions 

devolving to the services. The original DSARC memorandum that Packard 

issued in May 1969 emphasized that the “primary responsibility for defense 

systems acquisition and its management on a particular program must rest 

with the cognizant service and program manager (PM) it designates.”22

The spirit of “decentralized centralization” also could be found in the 

language of the landmark May 1970 memo, in which Packard articulated 

new principles for managing acquisition in the coming years. “The prime 

objective of the new policy guidance is to enable the services to improve 

their management of programs . . . . [T]he services have the responsibility 

to get the job done,” wrote Packard. “[I]t is the responsibility of OSD 

to approve the policies which the services are to follow, to evaluate the 

performance of the services in implementing the approved policies, and to 

make decision on proceeding into the next phase in each major acquisition 

program.”23 After Packard’s departure, the promotion and implementation 

of this broad vision fell to others, especially William P. Clements, Jr., 

who assumed the position of deputy secretary of Defense in late January 

1973, replacing Packard’s successor, Kenneth Rush; Dr. John S. Foster, Jr., 

director of Defense Research and Engineering; and Barry Shillito, assistant 

secretary of Defense for Installations and Logistics.

Senior OSD officials continued to promote changes to the management 

of the acquisition process. Packard’s widely circulated May 1970 

memorandum became the basis for the 5000 series of acquisition policy 

directives, which further articulated the changing relationship between OSD 

and the services, and demarcated the roles and responsibilities of each. DoD 

Directive 5000.1, “Acquisition of Major Defense Systems,” identified the 

need for decentralized responsibility and authority in the conceptualization 

and development of defense systems. Acquisition oversight would be 

provided by OSD (through the DSARC and other means), while the 
148 Providing the Means of War

services took responsibility for determining requirements, development, 

and production.24 Subsequent 5000 series directives were written to provide 

additional guidance on the management of major defense systems: DoD 

Instruction 5000.2, “Decision Coordinating Paper (DCP) and the Defense 

Systems Acquisition Review Council (DSARC),” was issued 21 January 

1975; and DoD Directive 5000.4, “OSD Cost Analysis Improvement 

Group,” was issued 13 June 1973.25

Packard-inspired changes to the process of acquisition programs 

included a policy that required unit cost thresholds to be declared in the 

DCP—development concept paper or decision coordinating paper, as it 

came to be known after 1971—submitted to the deputy secretary of Defense 

before an acquisition program could be initiated. According to policy, the 

statement of cost in the DCP effectively committed the acquisition program 

manager to stay under the declared cost threshold (a formality that had a 

range of acquisition practice consequences).26 As the acquisition process 

evolved during the 1970s, this “design-to-cost” approach became fully 

integrated into service acquisition regulations, and cost commitments 

became formally articulated during the second DSARC review.27 Now, 

by the late 1970s, the DCP no longer functioned as a contract between 

OSD and the services; this function became the purpose of the Secretary 

of Defense Decision Memorandum, or SDDM. Instead, the DCP evolved 

into a management statement that summarized program scheduling, system 

alternatives, and other matters related to the acquisition strategy.28 Still, in 

terms of decentralized centralization, the DCP remained an important part 

of the ongoing effort (on the part of OSD and the services) to manage better 

the overall acquisition process.

Making lasting and meaningful acquisition process changes, however, 

required new approaches to the practice of developing and producing 

weapons. Prototyping, cost-overrun avoidance, and waste elimination 

were identified as important acquisition practice reforms that deserved the 

full attention of OSD and the services.29 Parametric cost estimating was 

identified as one solution to the problem of cost overruns. Packard had been 

dismissive of older cost estimating practices as a kind of “wishful thinking” 

and encouraged the use of parametric costing, combined with prototyping, 

to reduce overrun risk.30

Source-selection reform was another acquisition practice issue, 

discussed by Packard on a number of occasions, which drew the attention 

of OSD and the services. Simplifying requests for proposals (RFPs) was an 

important first step. In the case of the Lightweight Fighter Prototype Project 

(which Packard initiated), the source-selection process was dramatically 

shortened by establishing a limit on the length of the actual proposal (fifty 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 149

pages for the technical proposal and ten pages for the cost proposal) and 

changing the scoring system used by the proposal evaluators. Air Force 

Systems Command welcomed this streamlined approach and anticipated 

using these kinds of limits and restrictions in all future competitions in 

order to speed up the selection process.31 Similarly, Maj. Gen. George 

Sammett, Jr., deputy chief of Research and Development for the Army, 

envisioned using a similar method for Army acquisition in order to reduce 

the hardware acquisition time span from eight or ten years to six. He 

predicted that this time savings could be accomplished through streamlined 

source-selection and expedited decisionmaking on the part of Army 

program managers, a prediction that was based on an assumption that more 

authority over acquisition practices would devolve to the services in the 

future.32

Other acquisition practices deserved scrutiny and reform, in Packard’s 

view. One such problem was acquisition staffing. Ensuring that acquisition 

program personnel, especially managers, were qualified to hold their 

positions was an important issue. Professionalization of the acquisition 

workforce was imperative, in Packard’s view, if the services were going to 

assume more responsibility for the development of weapons systems. As 

such, professionalization appeared as an important part of the management 

guidance laid out in the May 1970 memorandum. Packard’s approach 

was two-pronged: first, reevaluate “the overall structure of the program 

management function in all services;” and “put capable people into 

management, give them the responsibility and the authority and keep them 

there long enough to get the job done.”33

True to his goal of improving the acquisition workforce, Packard 

took on promoting acquisition education when he accepted the advice 

of a review group on acquisition management training, which proposed 

moving the Defense Weapon Systems Management Center at WrightPatterson AFB, Ohio—home to the only DoD educational curriculum for 

program management training—to Washington, D.C. In mid–1970, Packard 

approved the relocation of the program, and this move led directly to the 

establishment of the Defense Systems Management School (DSMS) at Fort 

Belvoir, Virginia, in July 1971. A subsequent deputy secretary of Defense, 

William P. Clements, Jr., carried Packard’s vision further when he issued 

a DoD acquisition career management directive in 1974 that called on 

the services to send program manager candidates (or program managers 

recently assigned to their jobs) to DSMS. To enhance the prestige of the 

DSMS program—and advertise the quality of the curriculum offered by the 

school—Clements changed the name of the school to the Defense Systems 

Management College.34
150 Providing the Means of War

By the mid–1970s, many of the acquisition practice improvements 

suggested by Packard were being implemented. Prototyping, parametric 

cost estimating, and source-selection reform were becoming commonplace. 

Some of the services were aggressively carrying out Packard’s guidance; 

the Air Force, for instance, established a “murder board” approach to 

writing RFPs, defined as “an eleventh-hour last critical check of a new 

defense system procurement before the defense contractor enters the 

picture.”35 Composed of officers and civilians drawn from the technical, 

legal, financial, and operational communities, the murder board was hailed 

as an important new step in the reform of acquisition practice. These 

service-specific reforms were supplemented by the creation of the Cost 

Analysis Improvement Group (CAIG), which was formed in January 1973 

to “provide improved independent cost analysis in the military services and 

OSD.”36

Although he served for only nineteen months, David Packard left an 

indelible mark on the acquisition community. After taking steps to address 

the public and internal criticisms of the C–5A program Packard charted 

a course for defense acquisition in the 1970s. Despite clear guidance, 

however, the challenges of retrenchment and the struggle to define “reform” 

continued to plague the acquisition community. 

Scandal, Suspicion, Reform

Although hardly a universal sentiment, there was sufficient public 

frustration with defense spending and acquisition that the issues filtered 

into the popular culture of the 1970s. Woody Allen’s farcical film Sleeper, 

released in 1973, depicted a fascist future state bent on crushing individual 

freedoms but stymied by overcomplicated and unreliable weapons. With 

a more serious tone, Joe Haldeman’s landmark science fiction novel The 

Forever War (1974) used an endless interstellar conflict to frame an allegory 

for the Vietnam War, complete with subplots that addressed the catastrophic 

impact of military spending on social structures, the cultural alienation felt 

by soldiers returning home from decades-long campaigns, and the problems 

associated with expedited technology acquisition programs.

Even before ineffective defense institutions became grist for popular 

culture, senior OSD officials were well aware of burgeoning “anti-defense” 

feelings that were more than just fallout from the C–5A hearings.37 As 

early as mid–1971, Packard had acknowledged the problem in public, 

warning his colleagues that “there will certainly be continuing pressures 

on the defense budget over the next few years. . . . [T]hese pressures 

have built up in part because of the growing attitude in the country” that 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 151

defense spending was the worst kind of government waste. To fix the 

problem, Packard called on the acquisition community to “do a better job 

in the future.”38 The momentum for change slowed some after Packard’s 

departure from the Department of Defense, but reform efforts continued, 

some based in part or in whole on work initiated during Nixon’s first term. 

To do a better job, however, the executive branch and Congress had to 

come to some kind of agreement on what “reform” meant. Fortunately, 

the government and private industry had initiated studies of these matters 

that were underway even as David Packard was being confirmed as deputy 

secretary of Defense. 

The Blue Ribbon Defense Panel (also known as the Fitzhugh 

Commission), for example, had been put together by Secretary of Defense 

Melvin Laird in 1969. Headed by Gilbert Fitzhugh, chairman of the board 

of the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, the panel provided an early 

blueprint for some acquisition reforms, even though acquisition activities 

were not the focus of the commission’s final report. The panel’s final report, 

released in summer 1970, included more than 100 recommendations for 

change.39

“Fly before you buy” was among the Fitzhugh recommendations, a 

finding that echoed the policy that Packard adopted shortly after taking office. 

As such, some critics dismissed the finding as repetitive. Nonetheless, the 

Fitzhugh report was widely cited as an important acknowledgement that 

there were serious problems with acquisition (Fitzhugh himself confessed 

“wonder” that the Pentagon worked at all). The Fitzhugh Commission’s other 

suggestions included establishing a Defense Test Agency to improve the 

operational test and evaluation of new systems; creating formal job categories 

and structured training and career opportunities for acquisition professionals, 

both uniformed and civilian; and, in the management and oversight of 

acquisition programs, reducing the emphasis on cost and schedule in favor of 

quality and mission performance.40

In an address to the Armed Forces Management Association, Packard 

celebrated the release of the Fitzhugh Commission report, announcing 

“Secretary Laird and I intend to move ahead as quickly as possible to put 

most of the 113 recommendations into effect.” Packard was sanguine about 

the state of defense acquisition, declaring that “in defense procurement, 

we have a real mess on our hands.... [W]hen we are not in a hurry to get 

things done right, we over-organize, over-man, over-spend, and underaccomplish.”41 He continued by pointing out that there was plenty of blame 

to go around: “Too frequently, we have been wrong in listening to you, 

and more frequently you have been unable to deliver on either of these 

promises—what it would do or what it would cost.”42
152 Providing the Means of War

Similarly, the National Security Industrial Association (NSIA) funded 

a private study of defense acquisition and, on 1 July 1970, released its 

findings as the Defense Acquisition Study.

43 The study acknowledged the 

Fitzhugh Commission, then ongoing, and the congressional Commission 

on Government Procurement (also established in 1969, discussed below) 

but expressed concern that recent government studies were products 

of “the emotional backlash resulting from instances of misjudgment or 

oversight.”44 Undertaken to provide an “objective review” of defense 

acquisition and the role of contractors in the process, the NSIA Defense 

Acquisition Study featured sweeping recommendations, including a call to 

rewrite the 1947 Armed Services Procurement Act; a suggestion that the 

federal government take the real costs of research and development into 

account when evaluating technical and cost proposals for major acquisition 

programs; and a demand that Congress and the Department of Defense 

establish reporting standards—“a common means of surveillance”—so 

that miscommunications would not be interpreted by the legislative branch 

as improper conduct on the part of defense contractors.45 The NSIA report 

also called on Defense Department to slow the implementation of the 1962 

Truth in Negotiations Act (Public Law 87–653), noting that “overzealous 

and duplicative” implementation had “led to a costly loss of productive 

manpower and time.”46

In the most sweeping and arguably the most important of the studies, 

Congress opted to examine defense acquisition through the creation of 

the Commission on Government Procurement, established by Public Law 

91–129, in November 1969. The commission was made up of members 

of Congress, the executive branch, and private citizens appointed by 

responsible federal authorities. Headed by E. Perkins McGuire, a consultant 

and corporate executive, and Rep. Chet Holifield (D–CA), the commission 

was the first of its kind to concentrate on acquisition matters. After several 

years of contemplation, the commission produced a massive four-volume 

report, released in December 1972, which covered almost every aspect of 

procurement and acquisition. The 149 recommendations set out in these 

volumes were far-reaching in scope and influence over both acquisition 

process and practices, and the action taken by Congress on some of the 

more important proposals contained in the report fundamentally reshaped 

defense acquisition.47

The Commission on Government Procurement proposed, among 

other things, the creation of an Office of Federal Procurement Policy 

(OFPP) within the Office of Management and Budget. In 1974, such an 

office was established by federal statute.48 The OFPP was organized with 

the understanding that it would have directive authority over all federal 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 153

procurement agencies and activities, and that the staff of the office would be 

a “small, highly competent cadre of seasoned procurement experts.”49 The 

OFPP was chartered to “formulate government-wide acquisition policies 

and regulations and to monitor government-agency acquisition practices.”50

The commission proposed doing away with the Armed Services 

Procurement Act of 1947 (applicable to military acquisition) and the 

Federal Property and Administrative Services Act of 1949 (which governed 

nonmilitary government procurement), and replacing the Byzantine laws 

and regulations promulgated by these acts and countless revisions with a 

“uniform, government-wide system, under the Direction of the Office of 

Federal Procurement Policy.”51

Other recommendations made by the commission were incorporated 

into subsequent acquisition policies, if not always in practice. These 

included measures to promote competition among industrial base firms at 

the beginning of an acquisition program, formal efforts to encourage smalland medium-sized companies to offer alternatives to large defense systems 

in order to promote the involvement of smaller contracting concerns in the 

acquisition endeavor, and management streamlining on the government 

side of the acquisition relationship. The commission also proposed that the 

government take steps to favor the use of private research and development 

facilities and services and rely less on government resources. Finally, 

the commission called on the executive branch to develop processes that 

would enhance information sharing and improve the transparency of major 

acquisition programs so that Congress could exercise more informed 

authority over defense acquisition activities.

Some attempts at transparency, however well intentioned, were doomed 

to failure by the exigencies of acquisition practice. In 1977, Congress 

made an effort to obtain a better understanding of the acquisition process 

by monitoring, through a database, the use of subcontractors by major 

defense companies. This gesture was an expression of the legislature’s 

long-standing desire to establish reliable means of acquisition surveillance. 

Congress directed the Department of Defense to compile subcontractor 

statistics from businesses awarded more than $500,000 in prime contracts. 

The defense industry did not readily comply with this requirement, and 

enforcement (the responsibility of the Department of Defense) was lax. In 

1981, the subcontract reporting requirement was abandoned by Congress.52

The views of the executive branch, private industry, and Congress 

were articulated on the pages of three reports, each with nuanced views 

on what measures had to be taken to reform defense acquisition. Through 

compromise and confrontation, many of the proposals in these reports were 

carried out. Of these three groups, however, it was Congress that emerged 
154 Providing the Means of War

from a decade of reform negotiations with a more activist role in defense 

acquisition. 

Landmarks and Milestones

As the decade wore on, Congress took a stronger role in defense 

acquisition—both in terms of oversight authority and direct control over 

programs. A number of important legislative acts, supported or augmented by 

executive decisions made during the 1970s, redirected the acquisition process. 

These changes took place against a backdrop of retrenchment in government 

spending, and many of the reforms that were made to the acquisition process 

in the mid–1970s were authored to strengthen Congress’s role vis-à-vis the 

executive branch in the federal budget process. Thus through retrenchment 

and reform, the legislative branch sought to obtain more control over 

acquisition, a defense activity that had become more decentralized and, as a 

consequence of creeping inflation, more expensive. 

Cost and Budget

Congress took steps to ensure that, despite the best efforts of the 

services to promote additional decentralization of acquisition activities, 

the civilian leadership secured an increasing amount of oversight power 

over defense acquisition processes. Cost and budget were used to promote 

this expansion of congressional involvement, and new fiscal management 

tools were introduced to enhance the legislature’s control of public 

spending. For example, in 1970, after a lengthy debate in Congress during 

hearings to amend the 1950 Defense Production Act, the Cost Accounting 

Standards Board (CASB) was created to act as an agent of Congress, 

working independently of DoD, to establish rules that included accounting 

requirements for defense contractors doing business with the federal 

government.53 The CASB issued cost accounting standards that were 

intended to address, among other issues, indirect cost improprieties, an 

issue that gained prominence when Admiral Hyman Rickover made the 

allegation in the late 1960s that contracting firms were grossly overcharging 

the government because of a lack of uniform cost accounting standards.54 A 

1970 General Accounting Office (GAO) study, “Report on the Feasibility 

of Applying Uniform Cost-Accounting Standards to Negotiated Defense 

Contracts,” suggested that federal cost accounting standards could be used 

to the benefit of the government in determining realistic cost estimates for 

both fixed-price and cost contracts.55 To this end, the CASB began issuing 

directives in 1972 and continued to make accounting standards policy 

throughout the decade. 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 155

In addition to important cost accounting practice changes, there were a 

number of critical adjustments made to the mechanics of federal budgeting 

during the 1970s. These changes fundamentally altered the relationship 

between Congress and the defense acquisition community, increasing the 

involvement of the legislature in acquisition program reviews. The 1974 

Congressional Budget and Impoundment Control Act (Public Law 93–344) 

was landmark legislation that had serious implications for the Department 

of Defense and the defense acquisition community. Generally speaking, 

the purpose of this legislation was to encourage the standardization of 

accounting and funding request processes, improve the position of the 

Congress vis-à-vis the executive branch on matters of impoundment and 

recisions (special requests for funding or funding deferrals), and standardize 

reporting across the government to improve oversight. The act aligned 

the civilian budgeting process with the DoD Planning, Programming, 

and Budgeting System (PPBS) and the Five-Year Defense Plan (FYDP). 

The act also changed the fiscal year from 1 July–30 June to 1 October–30 

September.56

Some of the 1974 Budget Act’s terms had special implications 

for defense acquisition. Title VII of the act, for instance, authorized 

congressional committees to conduct their own analyses of research, 

development, and procurement programs. Title VII also increased the audit 

and evaluation authority of the GAO.

57 For acquisition program managers, 

the new budgeting deadlines and requirements established by the act created 

additional process and practice burdens; if so requested by Congress or the 

GAO, detailed program justifications and cost analyses had to be prepared 

before additional moneys would be allocated to support an acquisition 

program. Because the act lengthened the horizon for budgeting, failure on 

the part of a program manager—or OSD—to respond to a congressional 

request for information might endanger several years of funding for an 

acquisition program.58 The act was part of a larger trend toward additional 

congressional involvement in the acquisition process, and the services’ 

existing acquisition review and budgeting practices had to be adjusted 

accordingly.59

Even more adjustments had to be made to the process of budgeting 

for military acquisition programs—indeed, for the entire Department of 

Defense—when President Jimmy Carter made the decision to adopt ZeroBased Budgeting (ZBB) for the executive branch when he took office 

in 1977. Described as both a budgeting approach and a management 

technique, President Carter had employed ZBB as governor of Georgia 

and made a campaign pledge to impose ZBB on “all federal departments, 

bureaus, and boards by Executive Order.”60 President Carter did in fact 
156 Providing the Means of War

issue such an order, and the 1979 fiscal year budget was prepared with 

ZBB.61

Reformers were encouraged by the president’s decision to adopt ZBB. 

Proponents praised the technique as a rational, objectives-based approach 

to spending money. As a management technique, ZBB required constituents 

to review the need for existing programs and established a means for new 

programs to compete with older programs for resources. Competition 

over monies forced reviews and justifications at the lowest levels of 

management. For defense programs, the introduction of ZBB required 

the active involvement of managers from the bottom-up and increased 

the reporting burden of the lowest echelons of the defense acquisition 

community.

Critics of ZBB noted that the technique generated enormous amounts 

of paperwork (a fact duly noted by acquisition officials) and placed undue 

pressures on the lowest levels of management, who could no longer 

dedicate total attention to the day-to-day operation of their offices and 

programs. The centralizing effect of ZBB—and the invasive review and 

justification processes it required—also unsettled some, while others 

questioned the utility of turning a process that was political at heart into an 

exercise in micro-management.62

Objections notwithstanding, ZBB forced fundamental changes to the 

acquisition budgeting process, increased the involvement of managers and 

other acquisition officials in the contentious justification process (many for 

the first time), and further involved Congress in the management of system 

acquisition. 

Rules and Regulations

In April 1976, the director of the Office of Management and Budget 

(OMB), working in concert with the first administrator of the newly 

created Office of Federal Procurement Policy (OFPP), issued a policy 

guidance paper on acquisition. Known as OMB Circular A–109, “Major 

Systems Acquisitions,” the policy was modeled on the existing DoD 

5000 series regulations, and specifically engaged many of the proposals 

and recommendations made by the 1972 Commission on Government 

Procurement.63 Most significantly, A–109 formally defined a “major” 

defense program as one that had estimated research and development 

costs in excess of $100 million or production costs in excess of $500 

million. According to the language of A–109, programs with such 

anticipated costs required that involvement of the highest levels of agency 

management in determining the connections between acquisition plans 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 157

and requirements. A–109 also directed that agencies adopt a systematic 

approach to “establishing mission needs, managing programs, budgeting, 

and contracting.”64

The supervision for this balancing act would come from within DoD. 

After the directive was issued, the secretary of Defense appointed the 

under secretary of Defense for Research and Engineering to work in a 

“dual-hatted” capacity as the defense acquisition executive (DAE). The 

DAE would serve as the principal adviser to the secretary of Defense on 

matters of defense technology and equipment. The directive also extended 

the “mission-based” approach to acquisition to contractors, encouraging 

DoD to employ task-oriented funding that would provide long-term support 

to industrial base firms during the periods between acquisition program 

decision points. According to OFPP and OMB, such an approach would 

facilitate the continuity of personnel and contribute to the stability of 

defense programs that could span many years.

For the defense acquisition community, continuity was something to be 

hoped for as the decade came to an end. During President Carter’s four years 

in office, inflation and reduced defense spending continued to have serious 

implications for the acquisition community—indeed, defense spending and 

defense jobs were key campaign issues during the run-up to the presidential 

election in November 1979—and the combination of domestic market 

instability and more open export and technology transfer rules (a legacy of 

the Nixon Doctrine) resulted in increased foreign competition, especially in 

spare parts and electronic components. As the decade came to a close, even 

more overseas competition led to the slow degradation of the U.S. defense 

industrial base, and spare parts manufacturers working under subcontract 

with major U.S. corporations were hit especially hard.65 On the technology 

front, however, international cooperation and exciting new developments held 

promise for the acquisition community, and the Department of Defense was 

keen to develop new capabilities. 

The Shape of Things to Come: New and Emerging Technologies

On 15 January 1976, the RCA Corporation declared that its Harrison, 

New Jersey, vacuum tube factory would cease operations by mid-year. This 

plant closing was one of many that occurred during the 1970s, actions that 

can now be regarded as historical footnotes in the story of the transition 

from tube technology to solid state electronics. Tastes, both consumer and 

military, were changing rapidly as electronics technology matured and 

became more widely available, but the changeover from tube to transistor 

was slow for the defense establishment. To the Department of Defense, the 
158 Providing the Means of War

plant closing was further evidence of the gradual erosion of the established 

defense industrial base; after all, RCA was a sole-source provider of 110 

different types of receiving tubes used in military hardware.66

Rapid technological change was an important theme in engineering 

discussions during the 1970s, and DoD engaged change head-on. 

Transistors, semiconductors, and other small electronic components were 

being married to produce relatively inexpensive computers, devices that 

were within the reach of many acquisition programs and, by mid-decade, 

the Defense Department was adopting new technology development tools, 

including computer-aided design and engineering (CAD–E). The earliest 

CAD–E results reported by the Army were promising; an improved fusing 

system for the 2.75-inch rocket system used on the Cobra helicopter and 

the initial designs for the squad automatic weapon (SAW) were developed 

with the aid of CAD–E technologies.67 One army officer, speaking before 

an audience at West Point, made a prediction about the importance and 

future of CAD–E technology: “it . . . will become the way of life in 

the same manner that the slide rule, desk calculator, and other current 

engineering aids have. . . . It will become so woven into our existence 

that no conscious stimulus will be required to use CAD–E. It will be the 

routine rather than the exception.”68 As the decade progressed, the defense 

acquisition community rapidly embraced computer technology, which 

found ready application in research and development, test and evaluation, 

and manufacturing—indeed, the entire spectrum of acquisition activities. 

Rapid changes to the state of the art in electronics technology had 

important implications for the management of acquisition programs, a 

point not lost on members of the community; by the end of the decade, 

some observers were beginning to question whether design-to-cost—one 

of the guiding principles of acquisition program management during 

the 1970s—could be sustained in the coming years as new technologies 

outstripped the pace of conventional acquisition. A concept first proposed 

in the late 1960s, design-to-cost became formal DoD policy in 1975, when 

Deputy Secretary of Defense Clements issued Directive 5000.28. The goals 

of design-to-cost were straightforward: recognize that system cost was as 

important a consideration in the development of a new system as technical 

requirements and scheduling; and identify and establish cost elements 

as management goals in order to balance life-cycle cost, performance, 

and schedule.69 Taking all of these costs into consideration—including 

maintenance and support expenses for twenty to thirty years—was a 

difficult enough proposition without having to factor in the rapid advance 

of technology and the inevitable (and possibly accelerated) obsolescence of 

even the most sophisticated weapons.
defense acquisition in the 1970s 159

Alternative approaches to design-to-cost acquisition were proposed 

as this problem became more widely recognized. One such alternative 

was “design to technology,” a risky proposition that involved determining 

the future state of technology and developing systems around capabilities 

that were based on expectations of emerging technologies. Another 

concept, “design for technology,” involved creating equipment that was, in 

contemporary terms, modular: large systems that could be easily improved 

by replacing small components that might be subject to rapid obsolescence. 

Other proposals were less radical; maintaining long-term contractor 

support was a logical short-term solution to a longer-term problem. With 

this approach, DoD could minimize long-range system life-cycle costs by 

using the original contractor’s “facilities and know-how to obtain spare 

parts and support.” This approach assumed that somebody—either the 

government or the prime contractor—would shoulder the costs associated 

with maintaining the facilities in question and preserving the know-how. 

Another concept, which placed more pressure on commercial companies, was 

to require warranties on systems, but this strategy required the prime system 

contractor to assume a great deal of long-term risk. In essence, under such 

a development approach, the contractor guaranteed that the system would 

perform reliably and meet requirements for a specific period of time; in order 

to fulfill this guarantee, the designer would have to “strive to achieve a level 

of reliability that [would] minimize item return for service.”70

Whatever approach taken, it was becoming clear by the end of the 

decade that reforms to the acquisition process would not be enough to 

guarantee that the armed forces would continue to have the most modern 

systems. Indeed, there would have to be fundamental reforms to practice of 

acquisition, and in the process of making these reforms, the community—

perhaps the entire government—would have to accept new approaches to 

system development, as well as the fiscal and technical growing pains that 

would accompany such reforms.

In a remarkably prescient article written in 1971, years before 

alternatives to design-to-cost were given consideration in the technical 

press, director of Defense Research and Engineering, Dr. John S. Foster, Jr., 

identified several emerging technologies that had revolutionary—as opposed 

to evolutionary—implications for the U.S. armed services. In his estimation, 

the escalating costs of developing new weapons—and maintaining large 

standing forces to man those systems—would soon outstrip the resources 

available to DoD, and such revolutionary weapons as smart bombs, forwardlooking infrared systems, ground sensors, communications systems, and 

telecraft (unmanned armed vehicles) held considerable promise as longterm, low-cost alternatives to the expensive advanced weapons being 
160 Providing the Means of War

contemplated by DoD. “[W]e must have more defense for less dollars,” 

Foster wrote, because “the cost of people in the Defense Department have 

increased significantly, so that now these costs consume more than half 

our money . . . [I]mmediate attention to evolutionary improvements [to our 

defense systems], though mandatory, is not enough. Our current national 

needs also requires approaches that will be revolutionary in nature. . . . I 

define a revolutionary weapon as one which meets a military requirement in 

a new way—and a cheaper way.” 

Since writing those words, many of the systems that Foster identified 

have reached maturity, but the cost issues he identified have yet to be 

resolved. New technologies adopted by the acquisition community in the 

1970s did not alleviate the pressures of inflation or reduce technology 

development costs.

Conclusion

The 1970s were marked by retrenchment and reform for the acquisition 

community, conditions that were inspired in part by public pressure to 

reduce defense spending and reform the acquisition process, a changing 

American strategic posture, and external economic pressures that affected 

the American industrial base. Retrenchment meant that budgets were 

smaller for acquisition activities, and that Congress became more of an 

activist in its oversight of the acquisition endeavor.

The term “reform” came to mean different things to different 

constituencies during the 1970s; to David Packard and others within DoD 

who shared his vision of decentralized acquisition program management, 

guided by minimal OSD supervision, reform meant returning power 

and authority to the services, and permitting those in uniform to make 

important decisions about matching mission requirements with technology. 

For Congress, reform meant oversight and transparency and more direct 

involvement in the management of the acquisition process. 

The reforms in question, although shaped by retrenchment, were 

initiated because of long-standing questions about the proper role of the 

myriad players involved in the acquisition endeavor. After revisiting the 

tensions between those who favored centralized control of acquisition and 

those who preferred decentralization, Congress and the executive branch 

arrived at compromises that set important precedents for acquisition 

activities in the 1980s and 1990s. These compromises took the form of laws 

and directives, many of which remain in place to this day.

Landmark rules and regulations written during the 1970s set the course 

for acquisition for the next two decades. The DSARC, a creation of David 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 161

Packard, remains an important OSD management tool. The 5000 series 

regulations have been continuously updated, revised, and reissued since the 

mid–1970s, and continue to serve as cornerstone documents for acquisition 

policy across DoD. A–109 remains as important today as it was in the late 

1970s; indeed, many of the findings of the Commission on Government 

Procurement, issued in 1972, influenced acquisition policy well beyond the 

1970s. The 1984 Competition in Contracting Act, for instance, drew heavily 

on the competitiveness recommendations of the 1972 commission report, 

and the lineage of the Federal Acquisition Regulations, or FAR, can be 

traced directly to the work of the Commission on Government Procurement, 

which created the Office of Federal Procurement Policy which, acting 

on the advice of the commission, in turn drafted the Defense Acquisition 

Regulations.

A confluence of factors shaped defense acquisition during the 1970s: 

attempts to reform the process, technologies adopted to improve the 

practice, and external economic and political pressures—both domestic 

and internal—all contributed to the evolution of the acquisition endeavor. 

It is an interesting paradox to consider the extent and legacy of the 

reforms undertaken during this key decade—and the fiscal pressures that 

contributed to the urgency to reform the system—that served as a backdrop 

for the creation of one of the United States’ most sophisticated weapon 

systems, the Stealth fighter. 
162 Providing the Means of War

Notes

1 Lieutenant General George M. Seignious, II, USA, “Defense Security 

Assistance Agency: DoD Organizes to Meet New Challenges of Security 

Assistance Program,” Defense Management Journal 8 (April 1972): 56. 2

 Captain R. Kenneth Bowers, USAF, “Coproduction: The U.S. F–5E in 

Taiwan and Switzerland,” Defense Systems Management Review 2 (Spring 

1979): 39.

3

 Ibid., 40.

4 On the matter of U.S.-Japan military hardware co-production, see 

Richard J. Samuels, “Rich Nation, Strong Army”: National Security and 

the Technological Transformation of Japan (Ithaca: Cornell University 

Press, 1996), 228–31. For a quick discussion of 1970s and early 1980s 

technology transfer and licensing arrangements between the United States 

and Japan, and the political context for those developments, refer to 

Michael J. Green, Arming Japan: Defense Production, Alliance Politics, 

and the Postwar Search for Autonomy (New York: Columbia University 

Press, 1995), 82–85. 5

 For details on the 1970s modernization of Singapore’s military, refer 

to Tim Huxley, Defending the Lion City: The Armed Forces of Singapore

(Crows Nest, NSW: Allen and Unwin, 2000), 19, 21.

6

 Madawi Al-Rasheed, A History of Saudi Arabia (Cambridge: 

Cambridge University Press, 2002), 142. 7

 See William Proxmire, Report from Wasteland (New York: Praeger 

Publishers, 1970), 36–38.

8

 Ibid., 38–39.

9

 These matters are discussed in detail in A. Ernest Fitzgerald, The High 

Priests of Waste (New York: W. W. Norton, 1972).

10 See, as an example, Berkeley Rice, The C–5A Scandal (Boston: 

Houghton-Mifflin Company, 1971), 32–36, 89–100. 11 Interview, Maurice Matloff and Alfred Goldberg with Melvin Laird, 

2 September 1986, 5–16; Interview, Alfred Goldberg and Maurice Matloff, 

with David Packard, 9 November 1987, 1–2. Both interviews are retained 

by the Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, Arlington, Va. 12 Herbert Roback, “Congress and the New Procurement Wisdom,” 

Defense Management Journal 8 (July 1972): 22.

13 Joseph Alsop, journalist and foreign policy commentator, declared 

upon Packard’s nomination to the post of Deputy Secretary of Defense, 

“[H]e is a man of . . . McNamara’s general stripe, well-equipped to maintain 

and continue the great McNamara reforms in the Defense Department.” See 

Current Biography 1969 (New York: H. W. Wilson, 1970), 320.
defense acquisition in the 1970s 163

14 “Address by the Honorable David Packard, Deputy Secretary of 

Defense at Armed Forces Management Association Dinner, International 

Hotel, Los Angeles, Calif., Thursday, August 20, 1970,” Defense 

Management Journal 6 (Summer 1970): 61.

15 Memorandum for deputy secretary of Defense to the secretaries of 

the Military Departments, director of Defense Research and Engineering, 

assistant secretaries of Defense, general counsel, assistants to the secretary 

of Defense, and director of Defense agencies, subj: “Policy Guidance 

on Major Weapon System Acquisition,” 28 May 1970. For a reprint of 

Packard’s 28 May 1970 memorandum, “Policy Guidance on Major Weapon 

System Acquisition,” see Defense Management Journal 6 (Summer 1970): 

56–59. For an abstracted version of the memo, see David Packard, “Policy 

and Perspective,” Defense Management Journal 7 (Fall 1971): 2.

16 Refer to Fitzgerald, High Priests of Waste, especially chapters 1 and 2.

17 Roback, “New Procurement Wisdom,” 22.

18 See David Packard, “Toward Better Management of the Development and Acquisition of New Weapons Systems,” Defense Management 

Journal 7 (Fall 1971): 6–7. This article was a digested version of Packard’s testimony before the House Appropriations Committee on 18 March 

1970.

19 The AX program was initiated in spring of 1970. Six aerospace 

companies responded to the Air Force Request for Proposals issued in 

May of 1970 for a close air support aircraft. On 18 December 1970, 

two of the six respondents, Fairchild and Northrop, were selected to 

participate in a prototype competition. Although the program was managed 

by the Air Force, the U.S. Army had an important role in the requirements 

determination process, and participated in the prototype evaluation 

process. In March of 1971, as Packard was testifying before Congress, 

both companies were preparing for the fly-off competition, which was held 

between October and December of 1971. On 18 January 1973, Fairchild’s 

AX prototype, the A–10, was selected for production. For a discussion 

of the decision to incorporate prototyping in the AX competition, refer 

to David C. Aronstein and Albert C. Piccirillo, “The F–16 Lightweight 

Fighter: A Case Study in Technology Transition,” in Jacob Neufeld, George 

M. Watson, Jr., and David Chenoweth, eds., Technology and the Air 

Force: A Retrospective Technology Assessment (Washington, D.C.: Air 

Force History and Museums Program, 1997), 207–08. David Packard’s 

remarks on the F–15, AX, and AWACS programs (as variations on the 

“fly-before-you-buy” approach) can be found in Packard, “Toward Better 

Management,” 7. For a more detailed discussion of the Lightweight 

Fighter (F–16) program, see Albert C. Piccirillo and David C. Aronstein, 
164 Providing the Means of War

The Lightweight Fighter Program: A Successful Approach to Fighter 

Technology Transition (Reston, Va.: American Institute of Aeronautics and 

Astronautics, 1997).

20 Packard, “Toward Better Management,” 7.

21 David D. Acker, “The Maturing Defense Acquisition Process,” 

Defense Systems Management Review 3 (Summer 1980): 35–36. 22 David Packard, Memorandum to the secretaries of Military 

Departments, director of Defense Research and Engineering, assistant 

secretaries of Defense, subj: “Establishment of a Defense Systems 

Acquisition Review Council,” 30 May 1969.

23 Memorandum for deputy secretary of Defense to the secretaries of 

the Military Departments, director of Defense Research and Engineering, 

assistant secretaries of Defense, general counsel, assistants to the secretary 

of Defense, and director of Defense agencies, subj: “Policy Guidance on 

Major Weapon System Acquisition,” 28 May 1970. 24 U.S. Department of Defense Directive 5000.1, “Acquisition of Major 

Defense Systems,” 13 July 1971.

25 See U.S. Department of Defense Instruction 5000.2, “Decision 

Coordinating Paper (DCP) and the Defense Systems Acquisition Review 

Council (DSARC),” 21 January 1975; U.S. Department of Defense 

Directive 5000.1, “Acquisition of Major Defense Systems,” 22 December 

1975 (revision of 1971 guidance); U.S. Department of Defense Directive 

5000.4, “OSD Cost Analysis Improvement Group,” 13 June 1973.

26 Packard, “Toward Better Management,” 7.

27 Edmund Dews and Giles Smith, Acquisition Policy Effectiveness: 

Department of Defense Experience in the 1970s, R-2516-DR&E, October 

1979, A Report Prepared for the Under Secretary of Defense for Research 

and Engineering (Santa Monica, Calif.: RAND, 1979), 10.

28 David D. Acker, Acquiring Defense Systems: A Quest for the Best (Fort 

Belvoir, Va.: Defense Systems Management College Press, 1993), 170.

29 David Packard, “Improving R&D Management Through 

Prototyping,” Defense Management Journal 8 (July 1972): 3–5.

30 Ibid., 4; Donald W. Srull, “Parametric Cost Estimating in Systems Acquisition Decisions,” Defense Management Journal 8 (April 1972): 2.

31 Lieutenant General James T. Stewart, USAF, “Source Selection 

Process Faces Winds of Change,” Defense Management Journal 9 (January 

1973): 13–15.

32 General Henry A. Miley, Jr., USA, “CAD-E: A Key to Cost and Time 

Reduction,” Defense Management Journal 9 (January 1973): 33.

33 Memorandum for deputy secretary of Defense to the secretaries of 

the Military Departments, director of Defense Research and Engineering, 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 165

assistant secretaries of Defense, general counsel, assistants to the secretary 

of Defense, and director of Defense agencies, subj: “Policy Guidance on 

Major Weapon System Acquisition,” 28 May 1970.

34 Acker, “The Maturing Defense Acquisition Process,” 38; see also 

Acker, Acquiring Defense Systems, 171.

35 Major General Edmund F. O’Connor, USAF, “AFSC Procurement 

Evaluation Panel: New Check in Defense Systems Acquisition,” Defense 

Management Journal 8 (April 1972): 12.

36 James R. Schlesinger, “FY 1975 Defense Budget: Settling Down for 

the Long Haul,” Defense Management Journal 10 (April 1974): 6.

37 In his critical article, “Gilbert Fitzhugh’s Golden Fleece,” A. Ernest 

Fitzgerald cites a memorandum sent from Secretary of Defense Melvin 

Laird to his assistants, in which the secretary of Defense decries “allusions 

in the press and elsewhere to runaway costs on such key programs as the 

C–5A” and their corrosive effect on public opinion. See A. Ernest 

Fitzgerald, “Gilbert Fitzhugh’s Golden Fleece,” Washington Monthly

(November 1970): 46, reprinted in Hearings Before the Subcommittee 

on Federal Spending Practices, Efficiency, and Open Government of the 

Committee on Government Operations, U.S. Senate, 94th Cong., 1st sess., 

part 2 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1975), 117.

38 David Packard quoted in Dr. John S. Foster, “Defense Systems 

Acquisition—As Seen by the Director of Defense Research and 

Engineering,” Defense Management Journal 7 (Fall 1971): 8.

39 See Blue Ribbon Defense Panel, Report to the President and the 

Secretary of Defense (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1970).

40 Defense Acquisition: Major U.S. Commission Reports (1949–1988), 

Volume 1, Committee on Armed Services, House of Representatives, 100th 

Cong., 2d sess., 1 November 1988 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1988), 11–13. 41 “Address by the Honorable David Packard, Deputy Secretary of 

Defense at Armed Forces Management Association Dinner, International 

Hotel, Los Angeles, Calif., Thursday, August 20, 1970,” Defense 

Management Journal 6 (Summer 1970): 61. 42 Ibid., 62.

43 The Defense Acquisition Study was preceded by a number of other 

industry-sponsored studies of specific acquisition or procurement problems. 

These included the Aerospace Industries Association, Essential Technical 

Steps and Related Uncertainties in DoD Weapon Systems Development, 

Phase II: Final Report (Washington, D.C.: AIA, 1968); Aerospace Industries 

Association, Essential Technical Steps and Related Uncertainties in DoD 

Weapon Systems Development, Phase III: Final Report (Washington, D.C.: 
166 Providing the Means of War

AIA, 1969); and Industry Advisory Council, Panel A, The Major Systems 

Acquisition Process, Study for Deputy Secretary of Defense (Washington, 

D.C., 1969). 44 National Security Industrial Association, Defense Acquisition Study

(Washington, D.C.: NSIA, 1970), xi.

45 Ibid., x, 72.

46 Ibid., ix.

47 See Report of the Commission on Government Procurement to the 

Congress, 31 December 1972.

48 PL 93–400, “The Office of Federal Procurement Policy Act.” 

49 Defense Acquisition: Major U.S. Commission Reports (1949–1988), 

Volume I, Committee on Armed Services, House of Representatives, 14.

50 Acker, “The Maturing of the Defense Acquisition Process,” 42.

51 Defense Acquisition: Major U.S. Commission Reports (1949–1988), 

Volume I, Committee on Armed Services, House of Representatives, 14. 

This suggestion to reform the government’s procurement system was later 

carried out with the codification of the Defense Acquisition Regulations 

(DAR), first issued in 1980. The DAR was, in turn, consolidated with 

the Federal Procurement Regulation and acquisition regulations for the 

National Aeronautics and Space Administration in 1984 as the Federal 

Acquisition Regulations.

52 Kenneth R. Mayer, The Political Economy of Defense Contracting

(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 34.

53 Section 719 of the Defense Production Act of 1950, as amended (PL

91–379, 50 U.S.C. App. 2168).

54 William Proxmire, Report from Wasteland (New York: Praeger 

Publishers, 1970), 9. 55 General Accounting Office, “Report on the Feasibility of Applying 

Uniform Cost-Accounting Standards to Negotiated Defense Contracts,” 19 

January 1970.

56 James A. Francis, “The Congressional Budget and Impoundment 

Control Act of 1974: Implications for Program Managers,” Defense Systems 

Management Review 1 (Winter 1976): 11–12. 57 Lieutenant. Colonel Paul B. Demitriades, USAF Reserve, “ZeroBased Budgeting and Sunset Legislation,” Defense Systems Management 

Review 1 (Autumn 1977): 39.

58 James A. Francis, “The Congressional Budget and Impoundment 

Control Act of 1974: Implications for Program Managers,” Defense Systems 

Management Review 1 (Winter 1976): 12–13.

59 James A. Francis notes that the Defense Department was preparing 

for the act well before it was signed into law. Briefings were prepared for 
defense acquisition in the 1970s 167

key DoD decision makers, in which ten key problems or complications 

were identified and explained. Most of the problems outlined in the 

briefing had to do with the immediate transition from the old budgeting 

process to the new process. Deadlines, especially those related to overall 

Service budgets, had to be taken into consideration. The new reporting 

requirements were also noted: “one informed source noted that 4,180 

pages of justification material had been submitted by OSD for the FY76 

Research and Development Account alone . . . this compares to 1,787 

pages submitted for FY70.” See Francis, “The Congressional Budget and 

Impoundment Control Act of 1974,” 17.

60 Zero-based budgeting was developed by Peter A. Pyhrr at Texas 

Instruments, Inc., in 1968. Jimmy Carter was attracted to the resourcemanagement potential of the ZBB concept, and he introduced its use in state 

budgeting in 1971 while serving as governor of Georgia. See Demitriades, 

“Zero-Based Budgeting and Sunset Legislation,” 37.

61 President Jimmy Carter, “Memorandum to the Heads of Executive 

Branch Agencies, subj: Zero-Based Budgeting,” 14 April 1977.

62 Acker, “The Maturing Defense Acquisition Process,” 54–55.

63 Office of Management and Budget Circular A–109, “Major Systems 

Acquisitions,” 5 April 1976.

64 Acker, “The Maturing Defense Acquisition Process,” 53.

65 On the effects of internationalization on the U.S. industrial base 

during the late 1970s, especially the impact on spare parts suppliers and 

defense subcontracting firms, refer to Jacques Gansler, The Defense 

Industry (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1980), 156–57. See also Green, 

Arming Japan, 81. Green notes that a cornerstone of the 1979 “New 

Policy on R&D” promulgated by the Japan Defense Agency was “to 

increase Japan’s technology level up to—or possible beyond—that 

of the United States and Europe in certain of the most advanced 

military technologies; and to use this new higher level of technology as 

background to maintain leverage in negotiations with the United States 

over military technologies.” This policy was informed by the belief—

widely held in some Japanese defense circles—that America’s militaryindustrial base was faltering as evidenced by America’s slowing GNP 

growth.

66 Carroll Eugene Garrison, “Technological Progress in Electronic 

Components: A Life Cycle Support Problem,” Defense Systems 

Management Review 1 (Winter 1976): 26.

67 General Henry A. Miley, Jr., “CAD-E: A Key to Cost and Time 

Reduction, Tool of the Future,” Defense Management Journal 9 (January 

1973): 39–40.
168 Providing the Means of War

68 Colonel Joseph E. Fix III, quoted in Miley, “CAD-E: A Key to Cost 

and Time Reduction,” 39.

69 U.S. Department of Defense Directive 5000.28, “Design-to-Cost,” 23 

May 1975.

70 Garrison, “Technological Progress in Electronic Components,” 30.
Money, Management, and Manpower:

Important Variables in the Design 

and Acquisition of Oliver Hazard PerryClass Frigates1

Timothy L. Francis

During the late 1960s, the Navy’s surface fleet faced three significant 

problems: unsustainable operating tempo, rapid capital depreciation, 

and a growing shortage of operating funds. The combination of rusting 

and worn-out ships, stagnant technology, and tight financial strictures 

eventually forced the U.S. Navy to create a new type of platform, the patrol 

frigate. The program incorporated many new ideas and approaches in its 

construction, technology, and procurement, policies that had a continuing 

impact on later programs. 

In the first instance, combat operations off Vietnam placed great strains 

on many cruisers and destroyers. High demand for gun line services woreout ships and gun barrels. During crisis periods, at-sea time approached 

85 percent and regular maintenance and overhauls were often deferred. 

The heavy allocation of ships, ammunition, and supplies to Vietnam also 

lengthened deployments elsewhere, worsening the wear and tear on Atlantic 

Fleet ships as well. 

In regards to technology, the Navy received a wake-up call when the 

Egyptian Navy sank the Israeli destroyer Eliat with two cruise missiles. The 

success of the Russian weapons indicated the postwar revolution in digital 

computer and missile technologies had finally arrived in the Soviet Navy. 

At the same time, the increasing size and capabilities of the Soviet surface 

fleet suggested the large numbers of World War II-era destroyers and 

escorts still in the U.S. inventory faced block obsolescence. Even with Fleet 

Rehabilitation and Maintenance (FRAM) updates, many of these warships 

were unable to counter the new nuclear-powered Soviet submarines and 

had little defense against air- or sea-launched cruise missile threats. Given 
170 Providing the Means of War

the global responsibilities of the U.S. Navy, these ships had to be replaced 

with new destroyers and frigates to escort and protect shipping, cover task 

forces, and hunt for enemy submarines.2

At the same time, however, congressional disaffection for the Vietnam 

conflict and the ensuing defense spending retrenchment by the Nixon 

Administration combined to shrink Department of Defense (DoD) outlays 

as a percentage of gross domestic product. From a high of 7.8 percent of 

GDP and 39.4 percent of federal spending in 1970, DoD outlays fell to 

5.5 percent of GDP and 28.8 percent of federal spending by 1974.3

 This 

pattern of congressional spending was in sight in mid-1970, when Admiral 

Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., was sworn in as Chief of Naval Operations (CNO). 

Although the analogy is perhaps simplistic, Secretary of Defense Melvin 

Laird and Secretary of the Navy John Chafee chose Zumwalt for reasons 

similar to the Royal Navy’s decision to make Jackie Fisher First Lord of 

the Admiralty in 1904. Zumwalt’s intended role, like Fisher’s, was to shake 

up the organization and revise the Navy’s force structure to meet the new 

threats. Most importantly, he was required to accomplish these tasks—

which included building new escorts—while still saving money.4

The initial response to the new Soviet challenges had been to 

design the nuclear-powered DLGN–36s for air defense and the Spruanceclass destroyers for antisubmarine warfare (ASW). These were both 

excellent platforms. Before the Aegis system, California (DLGN–36) was 

the most capable anti-air platform in the fleet. The Spruances, with the new 

SQS–56 sonar, extensive quieting, and space for a passive towed array, 

were impressive ASW ships. Unfortunately, these platforms suffered from 

the usual cost escalation experienced by cutting-edge warships and were 

very expensive. The lead Spruance, initially proposed as a “modest escort 

vessel,” went through numerous design alterations, and the new missile 

and sonar systems helped increase her size to 8,040 tons full load—the 

largest destroyer ever built to that point. Follow-on destroyers ran about 

$80 million each in FY 1968. The DLGNs were in a class of their own, 

but the cost—about $200 million apiece—and high reactor maintenance 

requirements meant only six were ever built.5

 Both warships also absorbed 

a lot of manpower, with 603 crewmen on the DLGNs and 262 on the 

destroyer. The latter figure is deceptive, however, as planned upgrades 

eventually boosted that number to 346 crewmen. This cost was significant, 

as personnel absorbed more than half of every dollar spent on defense in the 

early 1970s, a sum projected to rise after 1973, with the all-volunteer force.

Confronted with declining budgets on the one hand and cost escalation 

in warship construction on the other, Zumwalt scrapped most of the 

obsolete escorts in the Reserve Fleet—which dropped from 267 ships to 
money, management, and manpower 171

70—to free up money for new procurement. Even with these measures, 

the Navy still could not replace the old escorts with new Spruances on 

a one-for-one basis. Without a cheaper design, escort force levels were 

projected to fall to 160 in 1980, at a time when the minimum requirement 

was expected to exceed 200 escorts. The solution was the Patrol Frigate 

(PF) program.6

Concept Approval 

On 9 September 1970, as one of the many reforms coming out of 

Project Sixty, Zumwalt initiated a feasibility study for fifty new patrol 

frigates. The designed mission for the PF was “[T]o provide self-defense 

and effectively supplement planned and existing escorts in the protection 

of underway replenishment groups, amphibious forces, and military and 

mercantile shipping against sub-surface, air, and surface threats; and to 

conduct ASW operations in conjunction with other sea control forces 

tasked to ensure our use of essential sea lines of communications.” Given 

the budgetary constraints inherent in the domestically oriented Nixon 

Doctrine (announced in February 1970), the frigate’s equipment needed to 

be relatively simple, and complex hardware/software systems were avoided. 

By using previously established equipment, it was thought unit cost could 

be kept under $50 million, and the escort could be rapidly delivered to the 

fleet. 

On 1 June 1971, after almost nine months of concept exploration, the 

CNO approved moving into the design phase. After a briefing detailing 

cost-reduction alternatives on 14 October, Zumwalt decided on the 

following design constraints. Hull size was limited to 3,400 tons full-load 

displacement, crew size was held to 185, and follow-on unit costs could not 

exceed $45.7 million (in FY 1973 dollars). These parameters were unusual 

in that they set restrictions on the initial concept, thus making the PF the 

first design-to-cost procurement ever attempted by the Navy.

As part of the design process, several steps were taken to limit cost 

growth. First, the future characteristics change margin—a legacy of 

World War II building programs—was deleted. Any major equipment 

addition to the ship would have to be compensated by removing some 

other item. While a useful limit on the designers, this restriction led to an 

overly small allocation of space for the crew and supplies, which led to 

metacentric height problems later. Second, emphasis was placed on using 

or adapting existing equipment rather than designing new and perhaps 

uncertain technology. In a sense, this approach was an early version 

of government-off-the-shelf (GOTS) procurement policies. Third, the 
172 Providing the Means of War

propulsion and weapons systems were to be tested at land-based sites early 

in the shipbuilding cycle. This “fly-before-you-buy” approach theoretically 

would work out many of usual shakedown problems associated with new 

designs and prevent “rip-outs” of faulty equipment. Finally, contracts were 

structured so that the Navy would not be committed to a block purchase of 

ships until any cost, schedule, or technical problems were overcome. On 

12 April 1972, two cost-plus-fixed-fee contracts were awarded to support 

this Ship System Design Support program: one for the designated lead yard 

at Bath Iron Works; and the second, to Todd Shipyards Corp., a potential 

follow-on builder.7

Design and Development

Given budget and manning constraints, Zumwalt’s parameters meant 

the PF should complement existing forces rather than become another 

“jack-of-all-trades” warship. Given the advanced ASW capabilities of 

the Spruances as well as the Knox-class FF–1052s, the PF designers 

concentrated on anti-air and -surface capability. For this reason, 

preeminence was given to the Mk.13 missile launcher—capable of firing 

Standard (SM–1) and Harpoon missiles—and the relatively new AN/

SPS–49 air search radar and Mk.92 fire control systems. The latter was an 

American version of the Dutch WM.27, an integrated network found in the 

Belgian, Dutch, and German navies.8

As in any new warship, modifications took place as paper ideas met 

concrete reality. In order to make room for the missile launcher, the 

designers did not include an antisubmarine rocket (ASROC) launcher. 

Without the ASROC launcher, the frigate did not need the large and 

expensive AN/SQQ–23 detection and tracking sonar (found on Spruances, 

for example) and the designers initially selected a medium-sized Canadian 

SQS–505 sonar to take its place. Although less capable, the size and cost 

savings of the smaller sonar enabled the expansion of hangar facilities aft to 

support two helicopters. This was only possible because the SH–2 Seasprite 

helicopter took up space a mere 12 feet 3 inches wide; 38 feet 4 inches 

long; and 13 feet 7 inches high.

Several features in the PFs represented new capabilities. The helicopters 

themselves were the light airborne multipurpose system (LAMPS I) under 

development in the early 1970s. The idea was to increase the frigate’s sphere 

of influence through over-the-horizon target detection, classification, and 

engagement. The helicopters—equipped with submarine detection gear 

and torpedoes—used a computer data link to operate with the frigate as a 

submarine hunting team. In addition, the radar and ESM gear on the SH–2 
money, management, and manpower 173

Seasprite would detect surface threats well beyond the frigate’s surface-search 

radar range, allowing advance warning of missile threats and over-the-horizon 

targeting for the frigate’s Harpoons. Consistent with the policy of saving 

money, the Naval Sea Systems Command (NavSea) settled on the Canadian 

“Beartrap” helicopter landing system until an American variant could be 

developed.9

Although the SM–1s were used for antiaircraft and, theoretically, 

antimissile defense, some sort of point defense weapon was also needed. 

Initially, this weapon was a twin 35-mm. gun but it suffered from a short 

barrel life. This fact ran against the grain of keeping the maintenance 

cycle under control, and NavSea eventually decided on an Italian Oto 

Melara 76-mm. mount. It was lighter and less plagued with trouble than 

the 3-inch/50 mounts used in Vietnam-era destroyer-escorts, only required 

a crew of three (compared with fourteen for the 3-inch/50), and had a high 

rate of fire (one shell a second).10

In keeping with CNO’s request for simplicity, NavSea also chose 

two LM–2500 gas turbines instead of a traditional steam plant. These gas 

turbines were marine versions of the TF 39 jet engine used to power the 

C–5A transport aircraft and DC–10 commercial airliners. They were more 

economical than steam plants, especially as they required fewer personnel 

to operate, did not suffer the same age-related breakdowns, and required 

much less work to overhaul. Two turbines were placed amidships, topped 

by an air intake system, two exhaust stacks, and connected to a main gear 

transmission unit.11 Along with smaller and simpler engines, NavSea 

reduced shock protection redundancies and—much to the consternation 

of sailors who would serve in yawing frigates—removed a hull-fin 

stabilization system from consideration. 12

In order to lower construction costs, the Naval Ship Engineering 

Center, in company with Bath Iron Works, Todd Shipbuilding, and Gibbs 

& Cox, developed a relatively simple ship construction format. The idea, 

in contrast to the highly sophisticated “total package” process by which 

Spruances were constructed, was to allow any warship-capable shipyard 

the opportunity to bid on the project. Like the prototype destroyers of the 

1950s, this approach would offer significant replacement advantages in the 

event of a future global war. As part of this process, the ship was broken 

into sixteen prefabricated units, each requiring a lift of only 200 tons. These 

sections could be assembled at various locations in most shipyards and 

brought together in a sequence best suited to the space, equipment, and 

workers of any particular yard.13

In addition to platform cost restrictions, the Navy also implemented an 

integrated logistics support plan. Its purpose was to minimize shipboard 
174 Providing the Means of War

maintenance, which, in addition to saving money, would help limit overall 

crew size. In order to accomplish this goal, off-the-shelf equipment was 

installed where possible (for ease of replacement) and legacy systems 

avoided. On the operational side, because the gas turbine was all electric, 

the need for the lengthy industrial periods required by steam plants was 

not required. It was hoped a restricted availability of four weeks every two 

years would replace the three- to four-month regular overhauls required by 

steam-driven ships.14

On 24 October 1972, the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations 

(OPNAV) approved a design for a 445-foot long, 45 foot wide frigate 

with a full-load displacement of 3,400 tons. Powered by two gas-turbine 

engines, the frigate had a single drive shaft with a controllable reversible 

pitch propeller, and was capable of twenty-eight knots sustained speed. 

The tightly fitted design had a crew capacity of 185, a single 76-mm. gun 

mount, an SM–1 and Harpoon capable missile launcher, ASW torpedo 

tubes, and hangers for two SH–2D helicopters and supporting gear. 15

Testing, construction, and delivery

As part of the “fly-before-you-buy” philosophy, the Navy began a 

major test and evaluation program. The long-range SPS–49 air search radar 

was tested on U.S.S. Dale (CG–19) during 1974 while the Mk.92 gun-andmissile fire control system and the 76-mm. Oto Melara rapid-fire gun were 

tested on U.S.S. Talbot (FFG–4) in 1974 and 1975. The new American 

SQS–56 sonar, which replaced the earlier Canadian selection, was tested in 

Glennon (DD–840) during those same years.16 For the land-based sites, a 

complete propulsion system—twin General Electric LM–2500 gas turbines, 

Western Gear main propulsion gear transmission unit, drive shaft, and 

controllable-pitch propeller—was built in the Philadelphia Navy Yard. It 

went operational in August 1973. A combat system land-based site—which 

included the Mk.92 built by Sperry Gyro Co., a replica CIC, and associated 

radars and sensors—was assembled at Islip, New York, and given trial runs 

for several years. In the meantime, the Navy informed Congress it wanted 

a multiyear construction plan to let contracts in two blocks: twenty-four 

ships in FY 1975 and twenty-five ships in FY 1977. (See Chart 1.) Options 

for component equipment were to be obtained in FY 1976 and FY 1977, 

thus providing vendors with continuity of production, as well as the ability 

to standardize parts and establish reliable pricing. On 31 October 1973, 

Congress approved the lead ship contract of $202.2 million for Bath Iron 

Works, beginning the actual procurement process on schedule.17
money, management, and manpower 175

Chart 1: Original Navy Procurement Plan

FY funded ’73 ’74 ’75 ’76 ’77 ’78 ’79 ’80 ’81 ’82 ’83

First block 1 0 7 11 6

Second block 4 10 11

Delivery 1 0 9 12 10 12 6

One direct result of the tighter management and fiscal controls over 

the PF project was a revision in the Navy’s overall ship procurement 

system. Up to this point, the CNO had stated requirements—usually on a 

single sheet of paper—and the Chief of Naval Material (CNM) translated 

this list into hardware. During the previous design, cost estimation, and 

procurement specification processes, communication between CNO and 

CNM was unstructured and informal. This unstructured approach did not, 

as Zumwalt noted, “maximize mission effectiveness or minimize costs.” 

Declining fleet assets and escalating costs were forcing the Navy’s hand, 

however, and on 4 January 1974; the CNO approved a new instruction 

for defining ship operational requirements, maximum costs, and program 

constraints. The PF program was an example of the sharply increased test 

and evaluation requirements laid out in the instruction and proved a model 

for future programs.18

Unfortunately, the best management system in any defense procurement 

program cannot overcome that most dangerous of enemies: an unfavorable 

opinion in Congress. Although the lead ship was funded in FY 1973, 

the Senate Armed Services Committee (SASC) voiced concerns with the 

program during the summer of 1974. The major issue was the reliability of 

the foreign-developed systems in the PF program, particularly the Dutch 

fire control system and the Italian 76-mm. gun. The SASC, claiming that 

the concurrent development of these “untested” systems was of concern, 

issued a mark-up bill that reduced the number of PFs from seven to three 

and reduced funding from $436.5 million to $186 million.

The Navy protested these cuts, arguing the U.S.-manufactured versions 

of fire control system and gun were reliable and that the delay would 

upset procurement by disrupting multiyear vendor contracting. In the 

case of the Dutch WM–27 fire control system, the Navy argued it was not 

“developmental” since it had been delivered to fourteen countries over the 

past ten years. In addition, the Sperry Gyroscope Co., whose involvement 

in analog and digital fire control systems went back sixty years, could easily 

handle the contract. Finally, an American contractor for the Oto Melara 

had not yet been chosen for financial—not technical—reasons and Italian-
176 Providing the Means of War

made guns, which were in service in several navies, could be put in as many 

follow-on ships as required.19

More importantly, the initial procurement plan called for sixteen or 

seventeen ships each to be assigned to three yards: Bath Iron Works and the 

Todd Shipyards located in Los Angeles and Seattle. The primary objective 

was to keep costs down, both by taking advantage of economies of scale 

and by ensuring rapid delivery. With three yards at work, fabrication could 

begin in late 1976, and the entire program could be completed between 

early 1979 and early 1983. Dropping the initial block of ships from seven 

to three, however, would increase costs by stretching out the program and 

introducing uncertainty in shipyard planning and pricing estimates.20

These pleas fell on deaf ears and only three follow-on frigates were 

authorized in FY 1975. The Navy assigned one to each shipyard and, owing 

to long-term uncertainty, none of these hulls were laid down in 1976 as 

planned. On a more positive note, the land-based system evaluations were 

a success and the lead ship, Oliver Hazard Perry, was scheduled for launch 

on 25 September. Unfortunately, as that year began, the program faced 

another crisis.

In March 1976, the House Armed Services Sea power Subcommittee, 

led by Chairman Charles E. Bennett (D–FL), killed the patrol frigate 

program in its entirety. Instead of the inexpensive ships called for by 

Zumwalt four years earlier, the subcommittee, with the support of Admiral 

H.G. Rickover, diverted a significant portion of the shipbuilding account 

to nuclear-powered warships, calling for an additional Trident missile 

submarine, another Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, and two nuclear-powered 

strike cruisers. Fortunately for the frigate program, the Senate, in part led 

by Budget Committee Chairman Edmund S. Muskie (D–ME) who kept 

an eye out for Bath Iron Works, refused the cut and authorized six more 

ships that year. Although the program did not suffer any other significant 

challenges, authorizations did not keep pace with initial plans, and the 

forty-two remaining ships were authorized over eight years instead of the 

planned six (see Chart 2). The drawn-out contracts led to longer delivery 

times, stretching the entire construction program from five to eleven 

years.21

Did the program work?

As set by Zumwalt in 1972, there were three overall design goals within 

the PF program: cost, displacement, and crew size. While the financial 

constraint did hold down cost growth, the stretching out of the construction 

program increased planned outlays from $45.7 million to an estimated 
money, management, and manpower 177

$68 million each (in constant FY 1973 dollars) for the initial frigates. 

Cost growth caused by systems enhancement, or “capability creep,” was 

theoretically limited by NavSea’s elimination of the characteristics change 

margin, which left a growth margin of only thirty-nine tons. With the 

passage of time, however, NavSea decided holding the line on growth 

was neither possible nor desirable. This led to a steady increase from the 

original 3,600 tons (full load) to almost 4,100 tons (full load), a 14 percent 

increase.

The new LAMPS III provided a quantum improvement in ASW 

capability, and it was authorized starting with the FY 1979 ships (FFG–36 

and later), though some components were not finally installed for many 

years. The LAMPS III system included new data link hardware, the AN/

SQR–19 towed array sonar, an improved helicopter recovery system 

(RAST), and larger hangars to accommodate the bigger SH–60 Seahawk 

helicopters. Starting with FFG–55, fin stabilizers, more electromagnetic 

radiation shielding, the Phalanx (CWIS) close-defense system, and a 

lengthened stern raised both the displacement and the price to almost $85 

million (constant FY 1973), a 47 pecent increase in cost.23

These increased capabilities broke the ceiling on displacement, as 

the original goal had been 3,400 tons (full load), and—as much of this 

weight increase occurred topside—raised the ship’s center of gravity. In 

order to limit the adverse effect on stability, some weight savings were 

gained through offsetting reductions, but in most cases ballast approaching 

seventy tons was added deep in the ship. This increase could not continue 

indefinitely, as too much weight would start to effect speed and endurance, 

and a strict weight-monitoring program went into effect in 1982. Still, by 

the time the later flight FFG–7s came into service, NavSea discovered 

displacements were coming in significantly higher than predicted. This was 

caused by heavier than expected components, unrealistically low weight 

allowances for crew members and supplies, and the usual “squirreling” of 

excess spares and consumables by ship’s company.24

Chart 2: Actual U.S. Navy Procurement Plan22

FY funded ’73 ’74 ’75 ’76 ’77 ’78 ’79 ’80

Authorized 1 0 3 6 8 8 8 5

Laid down 1 0 3 7 7 7

Delivery 1 0 1 5

FY funded ’81 ’82 ’83 ’84 ’85 ’86 ’87 ’89

Authorized 6 3 2

Laid down 8 8 5 2 2 0 1

Delivery 8 9 9 8 5 2 2 1
178 Providing the Means of War

At the same time, however, Zumwalt’s original size limit did help 

to enforce the original limit on crew size. Originally constructed with 

only 185 bunks for both crew and helicopter detachment, the designers 

automated much of the engineering plant and reduced bridge and Combat 

Information Center (CIC) watch-standing needs. With only twenty-two 

sailors required on each watch, a significant portion of the crew was freed 

up for preventative maintenance. By FFG–61, manning levels had stabilized 

at 208 people, with every position occupied.25 The combination of modular 

system components, facilitating easy replacement, and the less-expensive 

gas turbine machinery kept operating costs low. With an annual operating 

cost of $7.25 million, the Oliver Hazard Perrys compared favorably to the 

$13 million required by Spruance-class destroyers.26 From this point of 

view, Zumwalt’s priorities were successful in limiting the size and cost of 

the frigate.

Overall Success

Finally, it is worth asking whether the warship was a success while 

in service. The design did evolve and related equipment changes had 

an impact on how the ship was received by the fleet. Over time, as the 

building yards and the Navy gathered experience, the various modifications 

noted above improved the class in four separate stages or “flights.” The 

improvements, such as Harpoon missile, AN/SQQ–89 sonar and LAMPS 

III capability, were backfitted into most of the earlier ships, and CIWS was 

added to all of them. Ironically, the only ship built from the keel up with all 

the upgrades was Ingraham (FFG–61), the last ship in the class.

As initially conceived, the frigate was a multimission warship, intended 

to provide extra air, surface, or antisubmarine capability to convoy defense 

or to amphibious operations. Although built for a specific war-at-sea 

scenario, the towed array and LAMPS III improvements were very useful 

and, during the 1980s, the frigates began operating in battle groups. 

According to reports in the 1980s, the crews liked the living conditions—

despite the crowding that came with the newer systems—and the planned 

maintenance cycle kept the ships in “fairly good condition.”27 The SNAP 

II software system was first installed in Sides (FFG–14) in 1983, finally 

providing the inventory and maintenance automation assumed in the 

original design philosophy. Despite initial misgivings, the installation was 

“several quantum leaps” ahead of tracking maintenance by hand and was 

quickly accepted.28 These changes helped make the FFGs an inexpensive 

improvement over the steam-powered Knox-class frigates. For their size 

and weight, they were extremely nimble and capable ships. Their cost 
money, management, and manpower 179

and capabilities appealed to other organizations as well, with Australia 

purchasing four frigates built in American yards and, along with Taiwan 

and Spain, building other FFGs in their own shipyards. Two of the older 

frigates, Wadsworth (FFG–9) and Clark (FFG–11), were even transferred 

to Poland, an ironic but positive conclusion for ships designed to defend 

against the Warsaw Pact.

This is not to say the frigate did not have detractors, especially in 

its later years. Some anecdotal comments note the Mk.92 and SM–1 

technology was outdated by the 1990s, that maintenance was too difficult 

since funding was low, and that sailors on cruisers and carriers joked 

that “they wished they were on a ‘fig’ so they could get sub pay.” Others 

complaints ranged from thin hull plating to helicopter hangar aesthetics, 

as FFG–7s have been called the “ugliest warship put afloat by any navy.”29

Despite such criticisms, it is difficult to conclude the frigates were not an 

excellent return for the investment.

As Philip Pugh noted fifteen years ago, and as budget analysts probably 

knew long before that, self-sustaining competition in military procurement 

often leads to exponential cost growth in exchange for small improvements 

in capability. This cost escalation occurs as performance characteristics 

improve with each upgrade, i.e. the higher the performance, the higher 

the unit cost. Navies are constantly squeezed between relatively fixed 

military budgets—in the U.S. roughly 3 percent of GDP—and more rapidly 

rising unit costs. This requires continual adjustment of fleet size and type, 

especially during times, such as the early 1970s, when economic growth 

and productivity lagged behind increasing costs. In those cases, navies often 

reduce capability in order to increase the number of platforms available. 

The PF program is a good example of such a dynamic. By saving money, 

manpower, and operating costs, the FFGs helped the Navy pass through 

the economic trough of the 1970s and, with the upgrades available from 

increased defense spending in the 1980s, have served as a reliable platform 

through the end of the twentieth century. Moreover without these low-end 

ships, the U.S. Navy never would have been able to grow to the numbers 

needed to conduct the last phase of the Cold War, which allowed the service 

to meet the multifaceted challenges of that period.
180 Providing the Means of War

Notes

1

 A more detailed history of the FFG program can be found in History 

of the U.S.S. Oliver Hazard Perry (FFG-7) Class Ship Building Program

(Washington, D.C.: Naval Historical Center, 1990). 2

 Malcom Muir, Jr., Black Shoes and Blue Water: Surface Warfare in 

the United States Navy, 1945–1975 (Washington, D.C.: Naval Historical 

Center, 1996), 159–60, 168–72.

3

 Annual Report of the Secretary of Defense to the President and the 

Congress, February 1995 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1995), Table B–3. 4

 Muir, Black Shoes and Blue Water, 195–98. For Fisher and the 

financial underpinnings of naval reform, see Jon T. Sumida, In Defence 

of Naval Supremacy: Finance, Technology, and British Naval Policy, 

1889–1914 (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1989), 18–46; and Nicholas Lambert, 

Sir John Fisher’s Naval Revolution (Columbia, S.C.: University of South 

Carolina Press, 1999), 73–126. 5

 Ibid., 187–89.

6

 U.S. Department of the Navy, Naval Ship Systems Command, 

Patrol Frigate Ship Acquisition Plan (U), June 1973, I-1. In reality, even 

with the PF program, escort force levels fell from 202 in 1970 to 165 in 

1980. 7

 Ibid., III-8; OpNav Memorandum OP-90B3/mjs, Ser 0105P90 of 1 

June 1971 (Appendix A–1), and CNP/VCNO Action Sheet #836–71 of 18 

October 1971 (Appendix B–1).

8

 “New Ships: FFG–7,” Surface Warfare (September 1975): 34–35.

9

 Michael R. Bonsignore, “A Look at Our Lamps,” U.S. Naval Institute 

Proceedings (December 1971): 27–31.

10 Muir, Black Shoes and Blue Water, 178. 11 “Interview with Commander Larry Carter, FFG 7 desk, Surface 

Warfare Division of ACNO (SW), 26 April 1989,” Operational Archives, 

Naval Historical Center, Washington, D.C.

12 Patrol Frigate Ship Acquisition Plan, I-15/16; III-12.

13 Naval Sea Systems Command, Building Patrol Frigates for the 

United States Navy (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Navy, 1974), 

3–4.14 Patrol Frigate Ship Acquisition Plan, I-108.

15 Patrol Frigate Ship Acquisition Plan, I-19/20.

16 See relevant Command Histories for Dale (CG-19), Glennon (DD840) and Talbot (FFG-4), Ships History Branch, Naval Historical Center, 

Washington, D.C.
money, management, and manpower 181

17 Captain John D. Beecher, “FFG-7: The Concept and Design,” U.S. 

Naval Institute Proceedings (March 1978): 148–50. For proposed funding 

plan, see Patrol Frigate Ship Acquisition Plan, I-44.

18 Chief of Naval Operations, Instruction 9010.300, 4 January 1974, 

subj: Top Level Requirements and Top-Level Specifications for the 

Development of Naval Ships.

19 Press Release, Navy Liaison Office to the U.S. Senate, 3 June 1974 

(copy in Ships History Branch files, Naval Historical Center, Washington, 

D.C.).

20 Building Patrol Frigates for the United States Navy, 14. 21 See George C. Wilson, “The Navy’s Future: All at Sea,” The 

Washington Post, 14 March 1976. 22 Table constructed from Combat Fleets of the World (Annapolis, Md.: 

Naval Institute Press, 1993), 835.

23 Beecher, “FFG-7: The Concept and Design,” 149; Combat Fleets of 

the World, 836. 24 “FFG-7 Class—Mission v Weight,” Captain Bruce Woodruff, NavSea 

PMS399, 5 March 1986, Operational Archives, Naval Historical Center, 

Washington, D.C.

25 “Interview with Commander Larry Carter,” 12.

26 For average costs, see Navy Program Factors Manual, OpNav 90P–

02A, 31 August 1977, summary factors, 2.

27 “Interview with Commander Larry Carter,” 10–14.

28 “Navy Times interview with Lieutenant Commander Ardin Goss, 

SNAP II Program Manager, NAVMAT–09B6, 8 September 1983,” Ships 

History Collection, Naval Historical Center, Washington, D.C., 5–8.

29 See correspondence with various recipients. Contact author for more 

information.

Moving Target: The U.S. Army Infantry Fighting 

Vehicle Program in the 1970s

W. Blair Haworth, Jr.

Between the establishment of the Armored Force on the eve of World 

War II and 1960, the Army developed and fielded four generations of 

armored personnel carriers. In accordance with wartime and postwar ideas 

of deployment of infantry in support of tank forces, these vehicles were 

designed for transport rather than combat, being lightly armored and armed 

only for self defense. Anticipated conditions of high-intensity armored 

warfare, possibly in nuclear, biological, and chemical (NBC) conditions, 

called this concept into question. As early as 1958, an Infantry School study 

sought to define the characteristics of an infantry fighting vehicle with 

substantial armament and protection that would allow the armored infantry 

squad to fight from the vehicle, although no action was taken on the study’s 

recommendations.

In early 1964, the Department of the Army ordered a development 

effort for mechanized infantry combat vehicles (MICV), to include an 

interim vehicle, the MICV–65, and an objective vehicle, the MICV–70. 

The MICV specification demanded a vehicle capable of engaging in combat 

through organic weapons, as well as the weapons of the carried infantry 

team, while providing greater ballistic and NBC protection than the current 

M113 APC; the MICV was nonetheless required to retain the APC’s airportability, amphibious capability, and capacity to accommodate a rifle 

squad and its equipment in addition to the vehicle crew. The MICV–65 

effort produced a test-bed vehicle, the XM701, which largely employed 

existing components. The XM701 was found unsatisfactory because of its 

size and automotive performance. 

The MICV–70 project, on the other hand, led to a purpose-built vehicle, 

the XM723 MICV, armed with light cannon and a machine gun in a one-man 

turret, and provided with vision devices and firing ports for the mechanized 
184 Providing the Means of War

infantry squad it carried. The XM723 had a troubled development history due 

to difficulty in meeting performance requirements within the specified cost, 

weight, and dimensions, despite an optimistic outside contractor report that 

claimed the MICV–70 specification should have been both attainable and 

cost-effective. In an effort to clarify this situation, in August 1968 Army Chief 

of Staff General William C. Westmoreland set up the Mechanized Infantry 

Combat Vehicle Ad Hoc Study Group (Casey Board), which was tasked to 

examine the MICV concept (but not the doctrine underlying it) and make 

recommendations to reduce the weight and cost of the vehicle. The board 

endorsed the MICV concept and made recommendations relaxing protection 

and endurance criteria, which yielded cost and weight savings of about onethird. 

Despite these concessions, the XM723 program struggled to meet 

its requirements. The operational and fiscal conditions of the Vietnam 

War and its aftermath lowered the priority of the program, and even as 

the XM723 prototype was being delivered in December 1972, a variety 

of industry and field initiatives suggested that much of the MICV–70 

requirement (especially as relaxed by the Casey Board) could be met 

through modifications of the M113, which had been pressed into combat 

missions in Vietnam. In addition, the combat record of the analogous 

Soviet BMP infantry combat vehicle with Arab forces in the 1973 war was 

markedly unsuccessful, casting doubt on the entire concept.

This situation was further complicated by the cancellation of the 

Army’s Armored Reconnaissance Scout Vehicle (ARSV) program in 1974; 

lacking resources for a new program in the wake of the Vietnam War, 

the service merged the Scout and MICV programs with the intention of 

producing mechanized infantry and armored cavalry variants of the XM723. 

The failure of the ARSV and its subsequent merger into the Mechanized 

Infantry Combat Vehicle program late in 1975 greatly increased the 

importance of the latter to the Army. It also introduced an entire new level 

of complexity into the XM723’s development.

Although the Scout and Infantry variants of the MICV were still 

automotively identical, they were envisioned as having different weapons 

stations. The infantry version was to continue with the one-man turret 

as planned—in fact, it was to receive two of them. The planned cannon 

armament was still in development; therefore, an interim weapons station 

mounting the M139 20-mm. cannon continued in development.

The Scout vehicle was a different matter. Its reconnaissance mission 

placed a premium on observation for the commander. The original MICV 

arrangement, with the commander stationed in the hull behind the driver 

and beside the turret, was unacceptable. The Scout was thus to have a two-
moving target 185

man turret, so the commander could be stationed at the highest point in the 

vehicle, with a 360-degree field of view. Also, in addition to the cannon and 

coaxial machine gun of the MICV, the Scout variant was to mount the tubelaunched, optically tracked, wire guided (TOW) heavy antitank missile, as a 

result of the Army’s post-Vietnam reorientation to European warfare, which 

foresaw a need for antiarmor firepower in forward areas.

Quite aside from the administrative and engineering complexity 

involved, this situation was insupportable. In a time of fiscal retrenchment 

and reductions in force, asking Congress for funding to produce a single 

vehicle with two hulls and three turrets seemed the quickest way to have 

the project join the MBT–70 and the ARSV. The embarrassment latent 

in this situation was all the greater given that the Army had dismissed 

the possibility of an M113-based MICV years before, due partially to the 

undesirability of a mixed fleet. To address these problems, in August 1976 

the Department of the Army appointed Brig. Gen. Richard Larkin, assistant 

commander of the 4th Infantry Division (Mechanized), to head a task force 

to examine the MICV program. After three months’ deliberations, the 

Larkin task force recommended that development of both one-man weapons 

stations be abandoned. Instead, it was recommended that an essentially 

common vehicle with the same level of protection as the existing vehicle 

should be procured. This course of action was reinforced by the perception 

that the commander’s limited visibility and separation from vehicle’s 

weapons and sensors had been a major shortcoming of the BMP in 1973.

Combat experience was confirmed by experimental evidence. While 

the Larkin task force was sitting, human factors tests were carried out in 

the course of second-phase operational testing. These tests found that the 

XM723 MICV, which shared the BMP’s layout, was equally difficult to 

command, despite the addition of a light-emitting diode display to help the 

commander transmit target bearings to the gunner in the turret.1

Under the Larkin task force’s scheme, the cavalry vehicle would thus 

mainly differ from that of the infantry in carrying a smaller crew and more 

ammunition, while omitting the firing port weapons. In both roles, the 

vehicle was to mount the turret previously associated with the scout version. 

In some ways, this innovation was revolutionary. It put the TOW, which 

had previously been regarded as a company- and battalion-level antitank 

weapon operated by specialists, at the disposal of each mechanized infantry 

squad. It thus gave mechanized infantry units a remarkable density of 

antitank firepower.

In other ways, the addition of TOW was an evolutionary step. 

Mechanized infantry forces had, after all, traditionally deployed large 

numbers of antitank weapons, both to provide a positional anchor to support 
186 Providing the Means of War

armored maneuver and to free up tanks that would otherwise be required 

for their protection in the defense. The proliferation of antitank missiles 

was thus analogous to deployment of the bazooka, which had been issued 

to each World War II armored infantry squad, rather than at the company 

level where it originally resided in other infantry tables of organization and 

equipment—or the machine gun, which went from being a battalion weapon 

to a squad weapon over the course of World War I, and from a squad to a 

fire team and even (as the assault rifle) a personal weapon during World 

War II.

Whether revolutionary or evolutionary, the addition of TOW to the 

Cavalry Fighting Vehicle at least had a firm basis in doctrine. In the 

summer of 1976, just before the Larkin task force began its deliberations, 

the Army Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC) under General 

William DePuy issued a new edition of the Army’s key doctrinal manual, 

FM 100-5, Operations. This work marked a radical reorientation of the 

Army’s professional thinking from the problems of peripheral war and 

counterinsurgency in general, and Vietnam and its aftermath in particular, 

to those of central war in Europe against the forces of the Warsaw Pact. In 

particular, at the tactical level he envisioned a defensive screen of “covering 

forces,” well supplied with antitank weapons—armored cavalry units 

equipped with TOW-armed scout vehicles, for example. These units were 

to force the attacking formations to stop, deploy, and engage them, thus 

incurring delays and telegraphing plans. The time and intelligence thus 

gained would, in turn, allow the armored main battle forces to concentrate, 

while air and artillery firepower from the rear battle area would be brought 

to bear as well.

The TOW, then, was seen as an emerging doctrinal necessity for the 

scout variant. For its infantry counterpart, the addition of the missile was 

more important politically than doctrinally; a common hull and turret for the 

two vehicles made for a vital savings in development costs. Furthermore, 

without it, the MICV, whatever its virtues, represented only an incremental 

improvement over the M113 and its derivatives. The total cost increment 

for each vehicle equipped with TBAT–II as opposed to the basic XM723 

design was given as $79,000 (Fiscal Year 1976) in congressional testimony. 

It is worth noting that much of this cost was for the thermal sight, an item 

deemed necessary in any event both for the scout mission and to match the 

night-fighting capability of the XM1 main battle tank.2

 For this relatively 

small monetary outlay, the XM2 gained the new guided missile capability 

that had made such an impact in the early phases of the Yom Kippur War 

without requiring the development of a new weapons system. Moreover, 

it did so by putting the weapons under armor, rendering them resistant 
moving target 187

to the suppressive fire used as a counter to antitank missile attacks in 

1973. Previous mobile ground mountings for the TOW, on M151 jeeps 

and atop M113s, had been unprotected. As General Donn Starry, DePuy’s 

successor at TRADOC, stated: “We in TRADOC . . . decided to put the 

TOW on the MICV because we realized that if we did not put the TOW 

on the MICV, we would probably never have an MICV.”3 Even without 

this rather pragmatic rationale, the Army’s addition of TOW to the MICV 

made considerable sense in terms of the service’s available resources. Time 

and fiscal constraints left the Army with the twelve-man XM723 hull and 

automotive systems on its hands, with its development almost complete. 

These were sized for a mechanized infantry squad the Army would likely be 

unable to field, within the constraints of the post-Vietnam volunteer Army. 

With only the gunner in the turret and the commander/squad leader in the 

hull, the XM723 was, in any case, configured in a manner both combat 

experience and experimentation suggested were at best inefficient and at 

worst untenable. Assuming the necessity for staying with the MICV hull and 

power train already developed, the TBAT–II design was a useful exercise, 

in effect taking up the excess volume in the MICV’s design while correcting 

the problematic configuration and addressing the perceived Soviet armor 

threat. A missile avoiding the mobility penalties inherent in the TOW would 

have been better and would certainly have made a more clear-cut argument 

for antitank capability for the new vehicles, but no such weapons system was 

available.4

Preliminary work on the modifications necessary for the TBAT–II 

configuration having already begun, the redesign, based on the MICV Task 

Force’s detailed recommendations, went ahead quickly. Larkin’s group, 

cognizant of the increased level of complexity and expense this redesign 

entailed, recommended that the TOW installation be relatively simple, 

carrying two rounds rather than the four originally considered, in a nonelevating mount, unlike those being studied for specialized M113-based 

TOW carriers. Similarly, they recognized the probability that the new 

turret would drive up the vehicle’s weight. In view of this problem, the 

Larkin task force recommended that the MICV’s amphibious capability be 

achieved by use of a water-barrier system. This was a bathtub-like canvas 

enclosure around the hull to increase waterborne displacement, as pioneered 

by the Sherman DD’s of World War II. Use of a water barrier was probably 

inevitable if amphibious capability was to be achieved, as the MICV’s 

hullborne flotation had become marginal at best.5

Perhaps the most significant design impact of the new arrangement was 

on the squad. The original MICV was sized for the then-current elevenman infantry rifle squad standard throughout all types of infantry unit, 
188 Providing the Means of War

whether mechanized, regular, airborne, or airmobile. Only six of these men, 

however, aside from the vehicle crew and squad leader, were placed where 

they could observe or fight from under armor. Accommodating the larger 

turret ring and providing stowage for reserve missile rounds effectively 

eliminated the odd two men. Officially, a trend was emerging to reduce the 

size of the squad to nine men in view of manpower concerns; furthermore, 

Army research such as the Infantry Rifle Unit Study of the early 1970s had 

suggested that improved firepower allowed a squad as small as seven. At 

any rate, in practical terms, few Army infantry squads at this time were ever 

at full strength. Even under the relatively improved conditions of the early 

1980s, many M113-equipped mechanized infantry platoons could field only 

eighteen to twenty-five men, making for de facto rifle “squads” of five to 

seven which concentrated on manning their most potent weapons first.6

FMC was quickly awarded a contract to produce the modified vehicles, 

and the redesign effort continued. In March 1977, the MICV program was 

renamed “Fighting Vehicle Systems” in recognition of its wider purview. 

Similarly, in May the departure from the original XM723 MICV concept 

was recognized by yet another redesignation: the MICV became the XM2 

IFV, while the Cavalry vehicle became the XM3 Cavalry Fighting Vehicle 

(CFV). The redesign progressed apace, as several of the thorniest problems 

of the original MICV effort were worked out. 

All this redesign, while relatively straightforward, took time and 

raised costs. This, in turn, drew congressional attention. Some legislators, 

notably Senator Sam Nunn (R–GA) and Senator Gary Hart (D–CO), as 

well as Hart’s defense aide, William S. Lind, questioned the entire rationale 

for the MICV. They believed the system was already obsolescent in 

concept, in particular due to its limited protection relative to the XM1. They 

favored, instead, a heavier infantry fighting vehicle with tank-like levels of 

protection. The Army had preliminary studies for such a vehicle underway 

but appears not to have favored such a solution on the grounds of cost and 

weight, which would have been on the order of the M1 tank.7

As a result, hearings were held in March 1977, before the Research and 

Development Subcommittee of the Senate Armed Services Committee to 

examine the program. The Army’s main witnesses were General DePuy, 

commander of TRADOC, and the Honorable Edward A. Miller, assistant 

secretary of the Army for Research and Development. General DePuy 

opened the testimony with a discussion of the strategic situation in Europe, 

the applicability of the Active Defense doctrine to that situation, and the 

significance of the MICV under that doctrine.

Perhaps the most striking characteristic of the Army’s testimony in these 

hearings was the essentially negative character of the defense of the MICV. 
moving target 189

General DePuy, who nominally saw the the MICV as fundamental to his new 

doctrine, still tended to couch his case for the system in terms of sunk costs, 

justification by foreign practice, and the inadequacy of the M113 for mobile 

armored combat, rather than any inherent quality of the vehicle itself. For 

instance:

Almost every army you look at is ahead of the American Army, as far as taking 

care of our infantry. The Russians are ahead of us, the Germans are ahead of us, the 

Dutch are ahead of us, the French are ahead of us, the Yugoslavians are ahead of us. 

Almost everybody has a better infantry vehicle than the U.S. Army.8

British armored warfare theorist Richard Simpkin’s lampoon of 

the Army’s attitude—“Well, I guess we have to have this MICV, ’cos 

everybody else has one so otherwise we’ll be disadvantaged”—is an 

exaggeration, but not by much.9

In the wake of these hearings, Congress directed the Army to examine 

the IFV concept further, with an eye to the costs involved. In October 

1977, therefore, yet another Department of the Army task force, this time 

chaired by Maj. Gen. Pat Crizer, reevaluated the requirement for the IFV 

and CFV, examining their design and making inquiries into the need for 

a more survivable vehicle.10 In addition, Congress directed the General 

Accounting Office (GAO) to investigate the Fighting Vehicle Systems 

program, especially with respect to the vehicles’ compatibility with the 

XM1 tank, itself in development at a somewhat more advanced stage—and 

also the target of intense congressional and press scrutiny.

The GAO presented its findings in a comptroller general’s report dated 

12 December 1977. It was notably critical of the XM2/3 design. The GAO

report asserted that the 1973 Arab-Israeli War had shown the necessity 

for a properly constituted combined arms team on the modern battlefield. 

This meant a well-equipped mechanized infantry force. At the same time, 

the report raised the question of whether the XM2 was in fact the proper 

equipment.11 In its investigation, the GAO compared the Army’s stated 

requirements for the tank/IFV team with the actual performance achieved. 

The civilian investigators pointed out that institutional considerations made 

coordination of the two vehicle programs difficult:

To effectively act as a team, the XM-1 and IFV must complement each other. 

Although the XM-1 and the IFV are to work closely together, two different Army 

branches are responsible for developing them. The XM-1 tank is under the Army 

armor branch, which is dedicated to maintaining and operating tanks. The IFV is 

under the Army infantry branch, which in the past has gone into battle on foot.12

GAO thus set out “to determine whether separate development affected 

the compatibility of the XM–1/IFV as a team and whether recent events 

affected the Army’s . . . justifications for these systems. . . .”13 Without 
190 Providing the Means of War

stopping to define “compatibility”—an omission common to Army sources 

as well—the GAO compared the two vehicles and concluded that the IFV

was significantly inferior to the XM1 in cross-country mobility and slower 

in acceleration. Furthermore, the IPV presented a larger silhouette with 

less armor and more pronounced noise and smoke signatures compared to 

the turbine-powered XM1.14 Compounding these problems was an absence 

of doctrinal publications on tank/IFV teamwork. Although TRADOC had 

produced a groundbreaking series of field manuals on tank/mechanized 

infantry tactics, the FM 71-series, these manuals dealt with the M60/M113 

team, with a different set of characteristics. The GAO report commented: 

In the case of the IFV, the Army is following a concept of developing a new weapons system and then determining how it will be used. Army officials said that the 

tactics for the IFV will be refined as soldiers train with the vehicle. In fact, this was 

one reason the Army wanted to field an interim version of the IFV15—a plan it has 

now abandoned because testing did not substantiate its practicality. We believe that 

the Army should develop its written plan now, so that it may make vehicle modifications, if warranted, in a timely and less expensive manner.16

The GAO’s final area of concern was the complexity of the IFV. Aside 

from concerns about the potential maintenance burden and immaturity 

of the turret and firing port weapons of the XM2, which were still in 

development, the investigators were concerned about the role of the IFV 

gunner, who was responsible for firing and maintaining three different 

systems: the 25-mm. cannon, the TOW missile, and the 7.62-mm. coaxial 

machine gun. Acquiring and maintaining the necessary set of skills was 

seen as a potentially critical problem.17 It must be pointed out that the 

investigators did not take into account the relative simplicity of operation, 

if not of maintenance, of the TOW system. Israeli gunners had reportedly 

been brought to reasonable proficiency with four hours’ practice under 

emergency conditions during the 1973 war,18 whereas Egyptian Sagger 

operators had to train on simulators even at the height of the war, firing 

twenty to thirty simulated rounds per day simply to maintain proficiency.19

Automotive complexity also concerned the authors of the comptroller 

general’s report. The hydromechanical transmission attracted attention as a 

major source of breakdowns. So did the suspension. These, however, were 

recognized as developing items, with the potential for improvement. A 

more fundamental criticism was aimed at the swim-barrier flotation system. 

The GAO pointed out that the swimming requirement—certainly not 

“compatible” with the mobility characteristics of the fifty-eight-ton XM1, 

and not found in the analogous West German Marder—was essentially a 

badly thought-out aping of the BMP. Swimmability placed a fundamental 

limit on the XM2’s armor protection and added complexity and expense to 
moving target 191

the vehicle for marginal return, especially given that the Army estimated that 

only 3 percent of European waterways required a swim capability to cross.20

Despite this plethora of complaints, it is worth noting that the GAO’s 

technical criticisms were not single-mindedly against innovative technology. 

The report, to cite one example, looked askance at the Army’s decision 

to omit collective NBC protection from both the XM1 and the XM2/3. In 

particular, it cited advances in Soviet offensive chemical capabilities, together 

with Soviet efforts to install such protection on tanks and BMPs.

In its final recommendations, the comptroller general’s report suggested 

that the secretary of Defense determine:

• Whether, considering its advanced state of development, the indicated design 

changes to make the IFV effective can still be practically made at an acceptable 

cost.

• Whether a tactical doctrine can be developed that can accommodate the 

incompatibilities between the IFV and the XM-1 and still provide the effectiveness 

anticipated from both.

We recommend that, if the design changes and tactical doctrine are unattainable, 

the secretary direct the Army to find alternatives to the IFV.

We also recommend that the Secretary require the Army to rejustify using individual protective masks and clothing against chemical warfare rather than equipping its 

new vehicles with protective systems. 21

Acting largely on this evaluation, the Office of Management and Budget 

deleted M2/3 funding from the Carter administration’s FY 79 budget. A 

political struggle then ensued to reinstate the program. In February 1979, 

at hearings before the House Armed Services Commitee on the Fiscal Year 

1979 defense appropriation, Brig. Gen. Stan Sheridan, program manager for 

fighting vehicle systems, defended his program, stating that: 

The Army feels rather strongly there is an urgent requirement for Infantry and 

Cavalry Fighting Vehicles to fight side by side with the XM1 Tank. It is the Army’s 

position that the current concept and design of that vehicle . . . meets the requirement and provides improved and versatile firepower; mobility compatible with 

XM1; sufficiently increased protection to allow infantry and cavalry to fight from 

within the vehicle; and simplified maintenance.22

Under questioning from the committee, Sheridan addressed the GAO

report, repeatedly emphasizing the advantages of the IFV’s enhanced 

firepower, particularly with respect to the GAO’s concern for the increased 

complexity of the new vehicle. That complexity, he claimed, was the 

price of increased capability. Toward the end of his testimony, Brig. Gen. 

Sheridan expressed his frustration with the stop-and-start course of the 

program: “I don’t mean to be facetious but it seems like about every few 

years we take the plant called IFV, we pull it out, and look at the roots to 

see if they are healthy . . . .” 23
192 Providing the Means of War

In mid–April 1978, the Crizer task force reported to Congress, 

confirming both the requirement for and design of the IFV and CFV, 

reporting that a vehicle with increased survivability would involve high 

investment costs, unacceptable delays in fielding the vehicle, and medium 

to high technical risk.24

While the Crizer task force was completing its investigations for 

Congress, another one was gearing up to answer the concerns of the 

Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) concern about the program. 

The IFV/CFV Special Study Group formed at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, 

in March 1978, under Brig. Gen. Fred Mehaffey. The Mehaffey group, in 

conjunction with the Tank-Automotive and Armaments Comand (TACOM) 

program manager for fighting vehicle systems, was directed to determine 

the cost-effectiveness of an IFV-based successor for the M113-based 

Improved TOW Vehicle, and to determine the cost-effectiveness of the 

IFV and CFV programs against M113 derivatives.25 The Mehaffey group’s 

recommendations were in the same vein as those of the Crizer task force. 

It found that the ITV was more cost-effective than the proposed IFVbased TOW vehicle26 and that M113 derivatives would require extensive 

reengineering to be even marginally satisfactory, requiring extensive 

modifications to accept a TBAT–II turret or analogous weapons station, 

along with a new power plant and suspension. To this end, the Mehaffey 

group recommended that the Army proceed as planned with the IFV and 

CFV.27

Despite fiscal and political uncertainty, development continued on the 

XM2 and 3 and in fact in October 1978, Congress reinstated the deleted 

procurement funds. The previous public law mandate for production 

delivery to commence by May 1981 was retained. 

Operational testing, intended to determine how well the vehicle met 

user expectations and developmental testing to establish its conformity with 

the formal requirements occupied most of 1979. These tests, as intended, 

revealed a number of shortcomings, particularly in the TOW launcher and 

Integrated Sight Unit. These problems yielded to fixes ranging in scope 

from the application of Loctite to a motor connector all the way to extensive 

system redesigns.28 These remedies, however, cost time and money, which 

alarmed Congress. The unit cost of the IFV, in constant FY 78 dollars, went 

from $370,000 to $472,000,29 a cost that was quickly revised upward to 

$495,00030 due to tooling problems at FMC. Taking the inflation rates of the 

era into account, this made the rollaway cost (i.e., the cost of a completed, 

fully equipped, M2 or M3) $557,000 in FY 80 dollars, averaged over a 

projected purchase of 7,000 units.31 Army representatives maintained that 

the IFV was still highly cost-effective, however, claiming that an IFV/
moving target 193

CFV-equipped force, while 5 percent to 12 percent more expensive than one 

equipped with the M113A2, was 80 percent to 120 percent more effective. 

As with the claim that the IFV was resistant to 92 percent of Soviet 

weapons (see above), no elaboration for this claim was given.32

Meanwhile, the XM2/3 were type-classified Standard on 20 December 

1979. FMC delivered the first production vehicle by the May 1981 

deadline, and on 20 October 1981, the M2 IFV was officially dedicated in 

honor of General Omar Bradley in a ceremony at Fort Myer.33 The newly 

named Bradley Fighting Vehicle entered production in 1981, and unit 

service in 1983. At last, the Army had an IFV; it was now necessary to 

decide what to do with it.
194 Providing the Means of War

Notes

1

 Seward Smith, Human Factors Implications of MICV OT II for 

Infantry Fighting Vehicle (IFV) Development (Alexandria, Va.: Department 

of the Army, Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff for Personnel, U.S. Army 

Research Institute for the Social and Behavioral Sciences, 1968), 9. 2

 U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Armed Services, Fiscal Year 1978 

Authorization for Military Procurement, Research, and Development, and 

Active Duty, Selected Reserve, and Civilian Personnel Strengths: Hearings 

Before the Committee on Armed Services, United States Senate, on S. 1210,

95th Cong., 1st sess., 1977, 5928. Hereafter cited as “SASC 1978.”

3

 “Developing Army’s Bradley: The Wages of Compromise,” Army 37 

(July 1987): 71. 4 While commandant of the NATO Defense College, Rome, 

Bundeswehr Lieutenant General Franz Uhle-Wettler pointed out that a 

specialized anti-tank self-defense missile would be much more useful 

on an IFV than the preexisting medium- and long-range missiles fitted; 

unfortunately, no such weapon (a short-range missile with a quick reaction 

time) exists despite the acquisition resources put into IFVs by major armies 

(Franz Uhle-Wettler, “Infantry Versus Tank: Common Sense and High 

Technology,” NATO’s Sixteen Nations [May–June 1984]: 53). 5

 United States Department of the Army, Tank-Automotive Command, 

Program Manager, Mechanized Infantry Combat Vehicles, “MICV Systems 

Message,” United States Army Tank-Automotive Command Archives, 

Warren Mich., “MICV Systems Message #3,” Inclosure (sic) 1.

6 Michael S. Hackney, “Understrength Platoon,” Infantry 72 

(November–December 1982): 10. Lieutenant Hackney was a mechanized 

infantry platoon leader ca. 1980. 7 Richard M. Ogorkiewicz, “Infantry Armored Vehicles: Origins and 

Future Trends,” International Defense Review (May 1990): 512. One of 

the most thorough published rationales for the heavy infantry fighting 

vehicle may be found in Richard Simpkin, Mechanized Infantry (London: 

Brassey’s, 1980), chapter 5. Grossly compressed, Simpkin’s thesis is that 

the main battle tank had (and has) grown so specialized as an anti-tank 

system itself and that the threat from other anti-tank weapons had grown so 

that there were many tactical situations in which IFVs, with their handier 

armament and dismountable troops, would have to lead, and that in any 

event, manpower and morale considerations in the NATO scenario called 

for higher levels of protection. Simpkin counters the cost and weight 

objections normally leveled at this approach by showing that for large 

fleet sizes, commonality between MBT and IFV components could realize 
moving target 195

economies of scale, and that the potential for hiving off secondary functions 

from the MBT to a complementary IFV, capable of closer cooperation than 

the lighter vehicles fielded so far, could drive weight down. In this book, as 

in several of his others, Simpkin emphasizes that for the NATO powers, the 

critical resource was manpower rather than money or materiel. Certainly 

the United States was a prime historical example of this thesis; the nation 

had run perilously short of riflemen in its last three wars, but never short of 

funds.

8

 SASC 1978, 5927. Note that the Dutch vehicle alluded to here is the 

YPR–765, a license-built version of the private-venture AIFV FMC had 

derived from the M113.

9

 Simpkin, Mechanized Infantry, 29.

10 United States Department of the Army, Tank-Automotive Command, 

Program Manager, Mechanized Infantry Combat Vehicles, “MICV Systems 

Messages,” United States Army Tank-Automotive Command Archives, 

Warren, Mich., “PM Message 7,” 1. Hereafter cited as “PM Message 7.” 11 U.S. Congress, General Accounting Office, Comptroller General, The 

Army’s Proposed Close Combat Vehicle Team (Washington, D.C.: GAO, 

1977), i; hereafter cited as “GAO 1977.” 12 GAO 1977, 1.

13 GAO 1977, 3. 14 GAO 1977, 4.

15 The XM723 MICV with M139 20-mm. cannon.

16 GAO 1977 11. Cf. I. B. Holley, Jr., Ideas and Weapons (New Haven, 

Conn.: Yale, 1953); the tendency for U.S. Army procurement bureaucracies 

to make doctrine fit its desired weapons dates back at least as far as World 

War I.

17 GAO 1977, 15.

18 Edgar O’Ballance, No Victor, No Vanquished: The Yom Kippur War

(San Rafael, Calif.: Presidio, 1978), 162.

19 David C. Isby, Weapons and Tactics of the Soviet Army (London: 

Jane’s, 1981), 145.

20 GAO 1977, 20. 21 GAO 1977, 27. 22 U.S. Congress. House Committee on Armed Services, Hearings on 

Military Posture and H.R. 10929: Department of Defense Authorization 

for Appropriations for Fiscal Year 1979, H.R. 10929, 95th Cong. 2d sess., 

1978, 171.

23 Ibid., 209.

24 “PM Message 7,” 1.

25 Daniel J. Kaufman, “Organizations, Technology, and Weapons 
196 Providing the Means of War

Acquisition: The Development of the Infantry Fighting Vehicle” (Ph.D. 

diss., Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1983), 409.

26 This was a considerable irony given the Army’s rejection of the 

XM765 and other M113 product improvements in the 1960s due to the cost 

impact of a two-vehicle fleet for the infantry.

27 Kaufman, “Organizations, Technology, and Weapons Acquisition,”

414.

28 U.S. Congress, House, Committee on Appropriations, Subcommittee 

on the Department of Defense, Department of Defense Appropriations 

for 1980, part 7, 96th Cong., 1st sess., 1979, 132–36; hereafter cited as 

Appropriations 1980.

29 Ibid., 109.

30 U.S. Congress, House, Committee on Armed Services, Hearings 

on Military Posture and H.R. 6495 [H.R. 6974]: Department of Defense 

Authorization for Appropriations for Fiscal Year 1981, 96th Cong., 2d sess., 

1980, 857.

31 U.S. Congress, Senate, Committee on Armed Services, Department of 

Defense Authorization for Appropriations for Fiscal Year 1981, 96th Cong., 

2d sess., 1980, 2333.

32 Ibid., 2335.

33 United States Army, Tank-Automotive Command, U.S. Army TankAutomotive Command Annual Historical Review, 1 October 1981–30 

September 1982, Joseph L. Avesian, Joseph Mihalak, Ann M. Bos, comps. 

(Warren, Mich.: United States Army Tank-Automotive Command, 1983), 

225.
Part IV

Acquisition in the 1980s

An Overview of Acquisition, 1981–1990

Andrew J. Butrica

The decade of the 1980s was one of extraordinary changes that had a 

direct and dramatic impact on defense acquisition. On 20 January 1981, 

as President Ronald Reagan took the oath of office, Iran held fifty-three 

Americans hostage. Although at peace, the United States was on the verge 

of the largest military buildup in peacetime history. The Cold War buildup 

responded to the perception that the United States had allowed its forces 

to dwindle while the Soviet Union continued to boost its armed forces. 

Ten years later, on 20 January 1991, the United States and its allies were 

at war with Iraq. The Cold War was over. The Berlin Wall had been torn 

down in November 1989, and soon, on 8 December 1991, the creation 

of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) heralded the start 

of a new post-Cold War era. Even before the startling end of the Cold 

War, Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci, in a February 1988 report to 

Congress, characterized the 1980s as “a momentous decade.”1

Two technologies new to the 1980s had a direct and lasting impact 

on acquisition. In 1981, IBM introduced the 5150 personal computer 

(PC) powered by an Intel 8088 processor and Microsoft’s Disk Operating 

System (MS-DOS).2

 The other technology was the space shuttle, which 

began operation on 4 July 1982. No other president since John F. Kennedy 

undertook as many large-scale space programs as Ronald Reagan. The 

period saw the formation of a unified Space Command, the launching of 

the Strategic Defense Initiative, and a national policy mandating that the 

Defense Department (DoD) purchase launch and other space goods and 

services from the private sector. 

This paper will focus on the evolution of defense acquisition reform 

during the 1980s. Throughout this tumultuous decade of political, economic, 

and technological change, the drive for acquisition reform was constant. 

The Reagan administration concentrated on cutting the cost of acquiring 

weapons and on streamlining the acquisition process. Some reforms focused 
200 Providing the Means of War

on fraud, waste, abuse, and overpriced spare parts, while others proposed 

fresh organizational approaches to the acquisition process, and still other 

reforms hoped to streamline it. This paper also considers the role of 

Congress in general and the Military Reform Caucus specifically. 

In the 1980s, congressional management and control of the defense 

acquisition process reached an all-time high. Congress’s assertive role in 

instigating and shaping Defense Department reform was complex. Members 

of the Military Reform Caucus often disagreed among themselves and 

with their colleagues on the House and Senate armed services committees, 

not to mention the ongoing discord between Congress and the Defense 

Department. 

This paper treats the evolution of defense acquisition reform in three 

parts. The first delineates the initial efforts of the Reagan administration. 

The second focuses on Congress and the Military Reform Caucus. The third 

examines the recommendations of the Packard Commission, the Reagan 

administration’s response to the reform movement. A concluding section 

assesses the state of acquisition reform in 1989, as seen through various 

official reports. 

The Carlucci Initiatives

The measures initially taken by the Defense Department to reform the 

weapons acquisition process grew out of Ronald Reagan’s presidential 

campaign. Reagan accused the federal government of having “overspent, 

overestimated, and overregulated.” He proposed lowering individual and 

corporate income taxes and shrinking the size of the federal government and 

budget. “We are being punished,” he contended, “for working, for saving, 

for investing, for growing, by a thoughtless government.” In addition, he 

proposed to curb the regulatory activity of the federal government, because 

those regulations had reduced productivity, caused economic inefficiency, 

and worsened inflation. Finally, Reagan vowed that his “first priority would 

be to embark on a program of rebuilding American military strength.” In 

order to finance this buildup, he proposed, “redirecting the misspent resources 

presently being consumed by a huge governmental bureaucracy.”3

The first step toward “redirecting the misspent resources” was the 

Defense Acquisition Improvement Program (DAIP), better known as 

the Carlucci Initiatives after Deputy Defense Secretary Frank Carlucci. 

In actuality, Vincent Puritano, Carlucci’s assistant, was its architect. 

The program’s essential goal was to cut costs, while shortening the 

acquisition process and improving force readiness. Puritano conducted the 

acquisition improvement study in parallel with a review of the Planning, 
an overview of acquisition 201

Programming, and Budgeting System (PPBS), with an eye toward linking 

the two processes. Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger found the 

PPBS “congested with paperwork” and in need of streamlining “to allow 

senior defense management to concentrate on such major problems as cost 

control.”4

 Through the PPBS, the Defense Department developed its fiveyear plan that culminated in the presentation of the president’s defense 

budget to the Congress. “The results of these two assessments would 

impact on each other,” Puritano explained, “since budgeting and weapons 

acquisition are intertwined—even though they have not always been 

adequately treated as such—and because there are inherent problems in 

coordinating two processes.”5

The Defense Acquisition Improvement Program consisted of thirtytwo initiatives. In addition to coordinating acquisition and PPBS decisions, 

the stated objectives of the Carlucci Initiatives were: 1) to reduce costs 

by “looking for substantial and real savings in the acquisition of major 

weapons systems”; 2) to improve the acquisition process by making it 

“more efficient and more effective”; 3) to increase program stability; and 

4) to require that “appropriate long-range business strategies and planning 

tools” be instituted “to reduce unit costs” and to increase the “quality while 

decreasing the delivery time of military hardware and civilian services.”6

Puritano organized representatives from the services, Office of Secretary 

of Defense staff, the Defense Systems Management College (DSMC), 

and the Logistics Commands into five teams, each of which studied a 

separate acquisition area: 1) cost reduction; 2) shortening acquisition time; 

3) improving weapon support and readiness; 4) improving the acquisition 

review process; and 5) multiyear procurement.7 Not surprisingly, then, among 

the key recommended initiatives were multiyear procurement, increased 

program stability, economic production rates, and fewer defense directives. 

The program also recommended retaining the under secretary of Defense for 

Research and Engineering as the defense acquisition executive. 

Within less than a year, the Defense Department integrated the 

Carlucci Initiatives into the acquisition process as part of Directive 5000.1, 

issued on 29 March 1982.8

 Implementation of acquisition improvement 

became an important objective of the newly formed Council on Integrity 

and Management Improvement, headed by Frank Carlucci.9

 A June 1983 

Defense Department review of the Acquisition Improvement Program 

reported that thirteen of the thirty-two initiatives had been incorporated into 

the acquisition process. Their implementation streamlined the acquisition 

process by reducing the number of required decision milestones, the amount 

of documentation, and the number of programs reviewed by high-level 

management. While reporting progress on another nine initiatives, the report 
202 Providing the Means of War

warned that further action was required to ensure proper implementation. 

Moreover, other initiatives requiring the revision of statutory thresholds and 

increasing funding flexibility could not be implemented without the approval 

of Congress.10

In addition to the Carlucci Initiatives, aimed at the weapons acquisition 

process, the Defense Department focused on fraud, waste, and abuse in 

procurement. Only later would these become the subjects of media attention 

and congressional investigations. Among the measures taken was a publicity 

campaign to revitalize the Defense Hotline and, in April 1981, the creation 

of the Office of Assistant to the Secretary of Defense for Review and 

Oversight. This office coordinated the efforts of the Defense Department’s 

auditors, inspectors, and investigators, in an effort to eliminate waste and 

to prevent and detect fraud and abuse. Subsequently, the Office of Defense 

Inspector General, created in September 1982 by the Department of Defense 

Authorization Act of 1982 (Public Law 97–252), took over the functions of 

the assistant to the secretary of Defense for Review and Oversight.11

Reform 88

Not all early Reagan administration acquisition reforms were confined 

to the Defense Department. Two government-wide reform projects 

attempted to have a direct impact on defense acquisition: Reform 88 and 

the Grace Commission. Started in May 1982 (though not announced until 

22 September 1982), Reform 88 was a six-year program, directed at the 

highest level, to make the federal government more efficient. The Cabinet 

Council on Management and Administration, a select group of departmental 

cabinet officers, managed the program. Edwin Meese III, counselor to 

President Reagan, was chairman pro tempore, while Joseph Wright, deputy 

director of the Office of Management and Budget (OMB), directed day-today activities. The President’s Task Force on Management Reform, under 

the direction of Martha O. Hesse (OMB), was responsible for implementing 

the management reforms that emerged from Reform 88.12

Reform 88 was an archetypical application of Reagan-era political 

thinking about making government operate more like a business. It started 

as a set of fifteen (later expanded to eighteen) projects intended “to 

streamline the operations of the federal government so that it functions in 

a more business-like manner.” It also aspired to make government more 

efficient by introducing new advanced technologies. Reform 88 proposed 

extensive applications of computers and other electronic technologies to 

improve an assortment of government financial, budgetary, and accounting 

operations, such as tracking the federal budget, submitting data to OMB 
an overview of acquisition 203

electronically, electronic controls over cash flow, including electronic funds 

transfers and automated lockboxes, and standardization and consolidation 

of pay and personnel systems into a single computer-driven system.13

The chief Reform 88 change to the acquisition process was the 

consolidation of the three federal procurement systems (the Defense 

Department, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and 

the General Services Administration) into a single system, the Federal 

Acquisition Regulation (FAR), thereby making it easier for businesses to 

deal with the federal government. The new acquisition regulation went 

into effect on April 1, 1984. It claimed to have cut the number of separate 

agency regulations by more than 60 percent.14

Nonetheless, the reduction was not so obvious. Whereas the former 

Defense Acquisition Regulation (DAR) had had twenty-six sections 

plus appendices A through R (plus manuals and supplements), the new 

acquisition regulation had eight subchapters, which included a total of 

fifty-three parts. The old acquisition regulation had a single-column format, 

while the new one was printed in two columns, cutting the number of pages 

in half with a single formatting decision. The new acquisition regulation 

required only three to four three-inch binders, compared to seven similar 

binders. However, because many of the defense procedures were unique 

to that agency, the unified acquisition regulation did not include them, 

and they had to appear in a lengthy supplement.15 The simplification of 

acquisition regulations still had a distance to go.

The Grace Commission

The last project added to the original fifteen Reform 88 projects was 

implementation of the Grace Commission recommendations.16 The Grace 

Commission was unusual among government studies in its extensive use of 

pro bono time donated by big business executives. Formally known as the 

President’s Private Sector Survey on Cost Control in the Federal Government, 

the Grace Commission came into existence through an executive order, dated 

30 June 1982, that directed an advisory committee to “conduct a private 

sector survey on cost control in the Federal Government” and to “advise the 

President and the Secretary of Commerce, and other Executive agency heads 

with respect to improving management and reducing costs.” Specifically, 

the study looked for “opportunities for increased efficiency and reduced 

costs” that could be achieved “by Executive action or legislation,” as well as 

improvements in managerial accountability and administrative control, shortterm and long-term managerial improvements, and other specific areas where 

further study might achieve savings.17
204 Providing the Means of War

The members of the President’s Private Sector Survey on Cost Control 

in the Federal Government were “appointed by the president from among 

citizens in private life.” All served without compensation, although 

the secretary of Commerce provided staff support through a nonprofit 

organization (the Foundation for the President’s Private Sector Survey on 

Cost Control). J. Peter Grace, the president of W. R. Grace & Co., led the 

commission’s executive committee, which formed thirty-six task forces, 

each co-chaired by two or more members of the executive committee, to 

undertake a series of preliminary reports. Twenty-two task forces studied 

specific departments and agencies, including the Air Force, the Army, the 

Navy, and the Office of Secretary of Defense (OSD), while fourteen studied 

functions cutting across government, such as personnel, data processing, 

and procurement. Thus, at least half a dozen task forces and their reports 

evaluated defense acquisition. The executive committee summarized these 

findings in a final summary report presented to President Reagan in 1984.18

The Task Force on the Office of the Secretary of Defense typified the 

private sector composition of the Grace Commission. Its four co-chairs 

were Robert A. Beck, Chief Executive Officer (CEO), Prudential Insurance; 

Carter L. Burgess, Chair, Foreign Policy Association; James E. Burke, 

CEO, Johnson and Johnson; and Carl D. Covitz, President, Landmark 

Communities, Ltd. Virtually all of the OSD task force members were 

from corporations not typically associated with the military-industrial 

complex. Prudential and Johnson & Johnson, as well as its Ethicon and 

Ortho Pharmaceutical subsidiaries contributed the largest number of task 

force members with six each, followed by the law firm of McKenna, 

Connor & Cuneo; the accounting firms of Touche Ross & Co. and 

Coopers & Lybrand; and Xerox, which contributed two members each. 

American Cyanamid Co., American Express, Campbell Soup, Champion 

International (paper products), Chesapeake & Potomac Telephone Co., 

Eaton Corporation, Ford Aerospace, GTE, Kenneth, Leventhal & Co., 

Lincoln National Life, Pepsico, PPG Industries, Proctor & Gamble, TRW, 

and U.S. Steel (now USX) each provided one commissioner.19

The forty-five members of the OSD Task Force “devoted about 

160 person-months of pro bono work” to the effort and claimed that, if 

implemented, their recommendations would save $44.684 billion over 

the first three years.20 The staff cautioned that they “had the formidable 

task of bringing their expertise to bear on largely unfamiliar and complex 

federal operations in the short span of a few months” in an “unprecedented 

and wide-ranging survey that was performed in a politically charged 

atmosphere.” The OSD task force analyzed opportunities for cost savings 

and management efficiency in six areas: logistics, weapons acquisition, 
an overview of acquisition 205

retirement provisions, health programs, personnel and compensation, and 

financial controls. Almost 40 percent of the recommended savings, they 

determined, would derive just from improved management of the weapons 

acquisition process.21

The OSD Task Force warned that not only was total defense spending 

escalating, but procurement, the largest component of the fiscal 1983 

budget, was the fastest growing part of the defense budget. From fiscal 

1974 to fiscal 1983, personnel costs increased 111 percent, operations and 

maintenance grew by 175 percent, and research, development, testing, and 

evaluation rose 202 percent, while procurement skyrocketed 369 percent. 

“Clearly,” noted the OSD Task Force, procurement “is an area in need of 

constant scrutiny for management efficiencies. The huge out-year costs of 

weapons now being developed will exacerbate this trend.”22

The OSD Task Force found two fundamental causes blocking 

efficient management of the acquisition process. The first was the lack 

of cooperation between the services and the OSD. The Task Force wrote, 

“The military services have never really bought into the need for central 

management by the Secretary of Defense. DoD has been in place for 

thirty-five years, but the services still resist its authority. . . . While no 

intellectual arguments to this effect were presented to the OSD Task 

Force, it is evident that the emotional undercurrent exerts a constant tug.” 

The second impediment was Congress. “Congress continually constricts 

DoD’s management prerogatives. Weapons choices, base deployment, 

and other major management decision cannot be made in isolation from 

home district political pressures from throughout the country. This creates 

an environment which favors expansion of programs; the management 

efficiencies of contraction or consolidation are seldom attainable.”23

The OSD Task Force made nine recommendations to improve the 

weapons acquisition process. First and foremost was the consolidation 

of “the management of the acquisition process within the Office of the 

Secretary of Defense” under a single senior acquisition executive, the 

under secretary of Defense for Acquisition, separated organizationally 

and functionally from the existing office of under secretary of Defense 

for Research and Engineering, which acted as the defense acquisition 

executive. A second key recommendation was the establishment of “a 

stable five-year spending plan for the acquisition of weapons systems at 

economical production rates.”24 Weapons programs become unstable when 

any factor, except inflation, causes actual program costs to exceed original 

estimated costs. Common causes of instability include poor initial cost 

estimates, stretched and delayed production schedules, engineering changes, 

and poor contractor performance.
206 Providing the Means of War

Other recommendations included consolidating all defense contract 

administration under the direction and control of the senior acquisition 

executive, instead of the Defense Contract Administration Service (DCAS) 

and the nine separate service organizations (three Army, four Navy, and 

two Air Force). Another recommendation, simplification of “the complex 

regulatory system” governing weapons acquisition, anticipated completion of 

the new federal acquisition regulation in 1984. Additional recommendations 

touched on how contractors recovered so-called independent research and 

development costs; improved integration of defense research data into the 

weapons acquisition process and elimination of duplicate staff and research 

efforts; use of common hardware components, subsystems, equipment, 

and other parts by all services; decreased use of military standards and 

specifications; more accurate procedures for estimating weapons costs; 

requiring contractors to absorb a greater share of cost overruns; and limiting 

the number of new weapons programs started each year.25

Finally, the OSD Task Force suggested reorganizing the Office 

of Secretary of Defense by creating a Defense Executive Office that 

mirrored corporate organizational structures. “Many large private-sector 

organizations, recognizing that the burden of coordinating a large complex 

enterprise is beyond the capability of one or two people, have created 

Offices of the Chief Executive.” The office would consist of the secretary 

of Defense, the deputy secretary of Defense, the three service secretaries, 

and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. This reorganization would 

represent individual service views better within the Office of Secretary 

of Defense, would “establish a base from which to achieve better unified 

decisions and actions among the services, and [would] relieve the span of 

control problem of the secretary of Defense.”26

The OSD Task Force also suggested reorganizing the Joint Chiefs of 

Staff, but held back making any specific recommendations because the 

organization of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was “beyond the scope of this Task 

Force’s charter. It should be pointed out, however, that many respected 

military and civilian leaders believe that it is timely to consider options for 

JCS reform.”27 In a few years, that reorganization became the focus of the 

Goldwater-Nichols Department of Defense Reorganization Act of 1986 

(Public Law 99–433).28

The Military Reform Caucus

For many critics of the Defense Department (and Congress), the Grace 

Commission reports highlighted the waste and pork-barrel corruption of the 

government.29 Many of the reforms proposed by the Reagan administration 
an overview of acquisition 207

required congressional approval. As the OSD task force had noted, “more 

than 80 percent of the savings dollars can only be achieved if there is 

congressional concurrence.”30 Friction between the Defense Department and 

Congress was a normal part of the process established in the Constitution 

that set the executive and legislative branches against each other. The 

Defense Department could propose, but Congress ultimately held the power 

to determine funding. At times during the turbulent Reagan years, disputes 

between the two branches went before the third branch, the Supreme Court, 

for resolution.

Central to the defense acquisition reforms initiated by Congress was 

the Military Reform Caucus, founded in 1981 by Sen. Gary Hart (D–CO). 

The caucus was a bicameral bipartisan group that embraced all divisions 

of the political spectrum, from liberals to conservatives. Initially, it served 

primarily as an educational forum, and its meetings were oriented more 

toward discussion than action. Caucus members emphasized conventional 

over nuclear weapons, simpler and more numerous weapons over advanced 

technology, increased spending on defense areas other than procurement, 

and maneuver warfare.31

During 1981 and 1982, membership in the Military Reform Caucus 

reached fifty and grew to eighty over the following two years, as caucus 

leadership passed from the bipartisan team of Senator Hart and Rep. G. 

William Whitehurst (R–VA) to two Republicans, Representative Jim 

Courter of New Jersey and Senator Nancy Kassebaum of Kansas. At the 

same time, the caucus’s focus also changed, with attacks on specific defense 

systems such as the M2 Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicle, the Abrams 

M1 tank, the Sergeant York (DIVAD) Air Defense gun, and the Maverick 

antitank missile.32 Attacks on individual weapons, however, were time 

consuming and aimed at the end of the acquisition process. Reform needed 

to correct things at the start, before problems appeared. Procedural reform 

also avoided dividing the Military Reform Caucus over specific programs 

and spending in their home states and districts.

At the same time, the caucus also shifted its attention to the mounting 

spare parts scandal. By attaching this issue to its agenda, the Military Reform 

Caucus drove defense acquisition legislative activity to an all-time high. 

Caucus membership swelled to more than 130 by 1986, including more than 

one hundred representatives and nearly thirty senators. Senators Charles 

Grassley (R–IA) and David Pryor (D–AR) and Representatives Denny Smith 

(R–OR) and Mel Levine (D–CA) provided bipartisan bicameral leadership 

during the height of the reform movement, 1985 and 1986.33

The spare parts scandal that propelled defense acquisition reform began 

not in Congress, but in the media and among public interest groups, chief of 
208 Providing the Means of War

which was the Project on Military Procurement, founded in 1981 by Dina 

Rasor, ABC News Washington bureau editorial assistant. The goals of her 

group, according to its literature, were “to reform the Pentagon procurement 

system by educating the public and the Congress of the ongoing waste, 

fraud and abuse through the press; to provide an effective and reliable 

defense while saving the American taxpayer as much money as possible; 

and to assist in any way, whistleblowers in the military establishment who 

wish to expose those abuses.” Initially, like the Military Reform Caucus, 

the project attacked the M-1 Abrams battle tank and other specific weapons 

programs.34

The exposure of a toilet seat costing $700 and a $435 claw hammer 

provided the reform movement its icons, and more importantly the kind 

of facile and tangible publicity angle needed to move public opinion. The 

spare parts scandal started in the summer of 1982 with a memorandum 

written by an Air Force official criticizing the engine manufacturers Pratt 

and Whitney for exorbitant price increases. When the Project on Military 

Procurement released the memorandum to the press, a flood of stories 

followed along with numerous requests to the project for more spare parts 

stories.35 Additional revelations emerged until the list of spare parts with 

astronomical price tags had grown quite lengthy, and still more examples 

were not hard to come by. House and Senate investigations soon followed. 

Rep. Charles Schumer (D–NY) succinctly summed up the situation: “What 

welfare mothers did for social spending in the 1970s, $6,000 coffee pots are 

doing for defense spending in the 1980s.”36

The Ten Commandments 

Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger responded to the spare parts 

scandal with a number of schemes. In August 1983, he announced a tenpoint program, commonly known as Weinberger’s Ten Commandments, 

to fight price abuse. The program included offering incentives to increase 

competitive bidding and to reward employees who pursued cost savings, 

as well as taking “stern disciplinary action, including reprimand, demotion 

and dismissal, against employees who are negligent in implementing 

Defense Department procedures.” The Ten Commandments were less 

harsh on contractors, however. They advised “alert[ing] defense contractors 

to the seriousness of the problem and ask[ing] them to take disciplinary 

action when necessary and reward[ing] employees when appropriate.” The 

tenth directive reminded defense employees, “The many corporations not 

involved in spare parts overcharging should not be maligned because of the 

failures of a few.”37
an overview of acquisition 209

A somewhat different set of ten directives appeared in the version 

presented to Congress. For example, the tenth directive read: “Secretary’s 

Personal Resolve to Straighten Up the Spare Parts Situation,” and the 

directive to “alert contractors to the seriousness of the problem” failed to 

mention taking disciplinary action, but added simply: “Our Strong Resolve 

to Control Prices.” Weinberger’s position before Congress was that the 

reported cases of the Defense Department paying “exorbitant prices” for 

spare parts was not the norm. He admitted that some serious problems exist, 

but he added, “it is noteworthy that our own management procedures have 

uncovered this problem and are being applied to correcting it.”38

Believing that spare parts pricing was just one facet of the problem, 

Weinberger promoted the use of standard parts during engineering design, 

development, production, or modification of equipment and major weapon 

systems, expanded training for spare-parts procurement personnel, and 

accelerated plans to acquire computer software to assist in controlling spare 

parts.39 These and more than 500 more individual initiatives, including 

increasing competition, exercising customer leverage, and improving price 

surveillance and control, formed the Spares Management Improvement 

Program. To oversee the program, Weinberger established a new position, 

deputy assistant secretary of Defense for Spares Program Management. 

“This marks the first time,” he told Congress, “we have had a single office 

with responsibility for all aspects of spare parts management.”40

The 1985–1986 Reform Wave 

As the Defense Department instituted changes to address the spare parts 

scandal, Congress considered a tsunami of acquisition reform legislation, 

especially in 1985 and 1986. So overwhelming was the deluge of proposed 

acquisition reforms, that in 1985 the Senate created the Armed Services 

Defense Acquisition Policy subcommittee chaired by Dan Quayle. Congress 

added a substantial number of reform bills to the fiscal 1986 and 1987 

defense authorization bills. Aggregated, they became Title IX of the 1986 

Defense Authorization Act, more commonly referred to as the Defense 

Procurement Improvement Act of 1985, and Title IV of the Defense 

Authorization Act of 1987, known as the Defense Acquisition Improvement 

Act of 1986.41

Key to understanding the large number of reform bills was not just the 

ongoing spare parts scandal and attacks on specific weapons systems but 

also the passage of the Gramm-Rudman Deficit Reduction Act of 1984. 

Gramm-Rudman aspired to control the rapidly rising deficits that had 

been so integral to the largest military buildup in peacetime history. Under 
210 Providing the Means of War

Gramm-Rudman, not just deficits but defense spending, too, would have to 

stop growing. 

While it is beyond the scope of this paper to address the hundreds of 

reform measures that Congress considered, even just for the years 

1985 and 1986, a look at a few key victories gives an idea of the extent 

of reform legislation. An early major victory of 1983 addressed the need 

for an independent operational testing and evaluation office in the Defense 

Department. Testing was at the heart of the long-standing aphorism “fly before 

you buy.” Reformers insisted that rigorous testing of any weapon, preferably under battlefield conditions, should precede any procurement decision. 

Congress passed the Office of Operational Testing and Evaluation 

Law as an amendment to the Fiscal Year 1984 Defense Authorization 

Act, which became part of the Department of Defense Authorization 

Act of 1984 (Public Law 98–94). Its intent was to assure that weapons 

would undergo thorough and realistic testing prior to any procurement 

decision. The law, however, was not implemented for eighteen months. 

The Defense Department did not request funding for the office during the 

next fiscal year. In 1985, two years later, instead of the candidate favored 

by the Military Reform Caucus, President Reagan nominated a McDonnell 

Douglas test pilot whom the caucus opposed. Thus, not only did the White 

House delay implementation of the law, but it staffed the office with 

someone unacceptable to its principal advocates.42

Although the Military Reform Caucus strongly advocated “fly before 

you buy,” a principal reformer axiom was expressed by the movement’s 

tongue-in-cheek motto, “more bang for the buck.” The fundamental goal 

was efficiency, and the greatest promoter of efficiency, from the reformers’ 

perspective, was free-market competition. Hence, much reform legislation 

aspired to increase private competition for defense dollars. The first 

and foremost piece of legislation fostering greater competition was the 

Competition in Contracting Act (CICA) of 1984, “widely regarded as the 

first major piece of procurement reform legislation passed by the Congress 

in over forty years.”43 The bill passed as part of the Gramm-Rudman 

Deficit Reduction Act of 1984. Although the act was directed at all federal 

procurement, the problems posed by the Pentagon’s disproportionate share 

of federal procurement provided the major impetus for the legislation. 

The goal of the legislation was to promote full and open competition in 

federal procurement procedures through a number of procedures and 

requirements.44 It required all federal agencies to open bidding on contracts 

to all qualified and interested firms and enforced this requirement. 

In 1985, as part of the legislative work on the fiscal 1986 defense 

authorization bill, reformers championed a long list of reform measures. 
an overview of acquisition 211

The Military Reform Caucus sponsored all of them. Heading the reform 

agenda were more stringent requirements for competitive contracting, 

specifically “dual sourcing” and “creeping capitalism.” The dual-sourcing 

amendment required the Pentagon, except under certain circumstances, to 

seek multiple contractors for both the development and production stages 

of procurement. Under creeping capitalism, the portion of competitive 

contracts was to increase by 5 percent each year until the total percentage 

reached 70 percent. Moreover, the Defense Department would renegotiate 

contracts on a yearly basis.45

The Boxer-Bennett amendment confronted the so-called revolving 

door problem of personnel transfers from the Pentagon to defense industry 

and vice versa. In particular, the steady flow of Defense Department 

employees from government jobs to employment with defense contractors 

blurred the distinction between public responsibility and private interest. 

A significant number of Pentagon officials, moreover, left government to 

work for the very contractor, and even the very same program, over which 

they had had supervisory and decision-making responsibility. Many thought 

that this state of affairs also contributed to waste and fraud. The BoxerBennett amendment called for strictly supervised limitations on revolvingdoor employment. It prohibited Pentagon employees from working for 

contractors over whom they had had significant responsibility for two 

years after leaving government employment. The legislation also sought to 

enhance and enforce reporting procedures and penalties for violations.46

Under the rubric of “allowable costs,” yet another amendment forbid 

the Defense Department to reimburse costs incurred by contractors for 

such things as lobbying, legal fees, advertising, entertainment expenses, 

and other amenities that often found their way into bills that the department 

would pay. Another compelled the Defense Department to utilize “shouldcost studies.” These would require contractors to submit data on how their 

projected costs of production compared with similar operations performed 

in civilian production. Other proposed legislation required warranties on 

Pentagon purchases.47

The Packard Commission

The wave of acquisition reforms legislated as part of the fiscal 1986 and 

1987 defense authorization bills, as well as the growing number of studies 

condemning defense acquisition and procurement practices, combined with 

the need to limit the growth of defense spending driven by Gramm-Rudman, 

and put pressure on the White House to take a stand on defense reform. 

Reagan responded by convening the President’s Blue Ribbon Commission 
212 Providing the Means of War

on Defense Management, better known as the Packard Commission, because 

of its chair, David Packard, chairman of Hewlett-Packard, a major defense 

contractor. The commission consisted of Packard, fifteen commissioners, 

and a staff of thirty-eight divided into sixteen professional and technical 

staff, two senior consultants, two public affairs specialists, and thirteen 

administrative staff. The two senior consultants were well known names in 

defense acquisition: Vincent Puritano, former assistant to Deputy Defense 

Secretary Frank Carlucci; and Jacques Gansler, future under secretary of 

Defense for Acquisition and Technology. 

Most (eight out of fifteen) of the Packard commissioners were officials 

formerly with the Office of Secretary of Defense (Frank Carlucci, Dr. William 

Perry), the services (Lieutenant General Brent Scowcroft, Admiral James 

Holloway III, General Paul Gorman, General Robert Barrow, R. James 

Woolsey), or the Reagan cabinet (William P. Clark). The others included 

a past secretary of Housing and Urban Development (Carla Hills), former 

legislators (Nicholas Brady, Barber Conable, Jr.), and retired corporate 

executives (Charles Pilliod, Jr., Louis Cabot), as well as the retired dean of the 

Stanford Business School (Ernest Arbuckle) and economist Herbert Stein.48

Clearly not represented were the voices of defense acquisition reform such as 

the Military Reform Caucus or the Project on Military Procurement. Because 

a major aim of the Packard Commission was to evaluate defense acquisition, 

the Acquisition Task Force formed under the direction of Dr. Perry. Its 

members included Packard, Cabot, Pilliod, Woolsey, and Arbuckle, who 

passed away while working on the effort.49

The Packard Commission released the results of its study in three 

separate reports published between February and June 1986. The 

Commission’s goal was to study “defense management and organization 

in its entirety,” including “the budget process, the procurement system, 

legislative oversight, and the organizational and operational arrangements, 

both formal and informal, among the Office of the Secretary of Defense, 

the Organization of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Unified and Specified 

Command system, the Military Departments, and the Congress.” The 

four major areas of study were national security planning and budgeting, 

military organization and command, acquisition organization and 

procedures, and government-industry accountability.50

The Packard Commission blamed Congress for many acquisition woes 

beginning with the April 1986 Interim Report. “Today, there is no rational 

system whereby the Executive Branch and the Congress reach coherent and 

enduring agreement on national military strategy, the forces to carry it out, 

and the funding that should be provided. . . . The absence of such a system 

contributes substantially to the instability and uncertainty that plague 
an overview of acquisition 213

our defense program. These cause imbalances in our military forces and 

capabilities, and increase the costs of procuring military equipment.”51

The Packard Commission recommended that defense acquisition 

should be run in the same manner as a successful commercial venture. This 

recommendation was not surprising in light of the Reagan administration’s 

often-stated goal of making government operate in a more business-like 

manner. The commission delineated the characteristics of a successful 

business operation: “Short, unambiguous lines of communication among 

levels of management, small staffs of highly competent professional 

personnel, an emphasis on innovation and productivity, smart buying 

practices, and, most importantly, a stable environment of planning and 

funding.” The commission found that federal law governing procurement 

had become “overwhelmingly complex” and that “responsibility for 

acquisition policy has become fragmented. There is today no single senior 

official in the Office of the Secretary of Defense working full time to 

provide overall supervision of the acquisition system.” The result was that 

“policy responsibility has tended to devolve to the services, where at times 

it has been exercised without the necessary coordination or uniformity.”52

The Packard Commission did not wait for its final report to begin 

making recommendations. The April 1986 Interim Report furnished its 

first set of reform proposals. The first was one already made by the 

Grace Commission: Create a new position, under secretary of Defense 

for Acquisition. The Packard Commission went farther, though. It 

recommended that the Army, Navy, and Air Force each should establish 

a service acquisition executive position “filled by a top-level civilian 

presidential appointee.” The service acquisition executives in turn would 

appoint program executive officers (PEO), “each of whom would be 

responsible for a reasonable and defined number of acquisition programs. 

Program managers for these programs would be responsible directly to their 

respective PEO and report only to him on program matters.”53

The Packard Interim Report also recommended simplifying and 

streamlining all federal statutes governing procurement into a single 

government-wide procurement statute; fully institutionalizing “baselining” 

for major weapon systems at the initiation of full-scale engineering 

development; expanding the use of multiyear procurement for high-priority 

systems; increasing “commercial-style” competition, “relying on inherent 

market forces instead of governmental intervention”; making greater use 

of components, systems, and services available “off the shelf”; giving a 

high priority to building and testing prototype systems and subsystems 

before proceeding with full-scale development; beginning operational 

testing early in advanced development and continuing through full-scale 
214 Providing the Means of War

development, using prototype hardware; enhancing the quality of acquisition 

personnel; and establishing “business-related education and experience 

criteria for civilian contracting personnel . . . [to] provide a basis for 

the professionalization of their career paths.” The report also suggested 

having the under secretary of defense (acquisition) and the vice chairman 

of the Joint Chiefs of Staff co-chair the Joint Requirements Management 

Board (JRMB). The board would “play an active and important role in all 

joint programs and in appropriate service programs by defining weapons 

requirements, selecting programs for development, and providing thereby an 

early trade-off between cost and performance.”54

The second Packard Commission report, issued in April 1986, provided, 

as its title proclaimed, A Formula for Action. The report again offered “an 

acquisition model to emulate,” namely, that of “successful programs from 

private industry,” as exemplified by the IBM 360 computer, the Boeing 767, 

the AT&T telephone switch, and the Hughes communication satellite. The 

“formula for action” was largely a repackaging of the recommendations set 

forth in the Interim Report. The major change was a greater emphasis on 

the quality of acquisition personnel. On one hand, the report advised, the 

Defense Department should “substantially reduce the number of acquisition 

personnel.” Establishing “short, unambiguous lines of authority” from the 

Defense secretary down to the program managers would “streamline the 

acquisition process and cut through bureaucratic red tape. This should allow 

for a substantial reduction in the total number of personnel in the defense 

acquisition system, to levels that more nearly compare with commercial 

acquisition counterparts.”55

On the other hand, the Defense Department needed to “attract and 

retain the caliber of people necessary for a quality acquisition program.” 

“Compared to its industry counterparts,” the defense acquisition workforce 

was “undertrained, underpaid, and inexperienced. Whatever other changes 

may be made, it is vitally important to enhance the quality of the defense 

acquisition work force—both by attracting qualified new personnel and by 

improving the training and motivation of current personnel.” The Packard 

Commission “strongly” supported the measures undertaken by the Army, 

Navy, and Air Force to establish “a well-defined acquisition career program 

for its officers.”56

It also supported measures already passed by congressional reformers. 

In 1984, for example, Congress established a minimum four-year tenure 

for program management assignments. The 1986 Defense Authorization 

Act prescribed requisite qualifications and training, including at least 

eight years of acquisition-related experience and appropriate instruction 

at the Defense Systems Management College (or equivalent training). The 
an overview of acquisition 215

Packard Commission supported these changes and recommended a number 

of specific changes in civil service regulations regarding the employment of 

professionals and specialists.57

The final Packard Commission report, A Quest for Excellence, 

appeared in June 1986. It again echoed the recommendations of the two 

previous reports.58 The title reflected the rising currency of “excellence” 

and “quality” among U.S. corporate executives who had read, or had 

been motivated by, such books as In Search of Excellence that preached 

the gospel of Total Quality Management (TQM) in one form or another.59

The Packard Commission embraced the TQM gospel as a solution to 

the Defense Department’s acquisition woes. “During the last decade 

or so a new theory of management has evolved,” Quest for Excellence

explained. “These new management practices have resulted in much higher 

productivity and much higher quality in the products being produced.” With 

the application of Total Quality Management, “productivity and quality 

become hallmarks of defense acquisition.”60 The concept, however, was 

not new to the Defense Department or to defense program managers, as a 

scan of Program Manager, a periodical published by the Defense Systems 

Management College for program managers, reveals.61

Implementation and Assessment 

Implementation of the Packard Commission’s recommendations began 

shortly after the release of the February 1986 Interim Report, with the 

issuance of National Security Defense Directive 219, “Implementation 

of the Recommendations of the President’s Commission on Defense 

Management,” on 1 April 1986. Implementation, however, appears to have 

been confined to creating reports. Moreover, Congress, not the defense 

directive, created the office of under secretary of Defense for Acquisition 

through the Defense Acquisition Improvement Act of 1986 (PL 99–661). 

The defense directive assumed the establishment of the office and directed 

the secretary to issue a directive “outlining the roles, functions, and 

responsibilities of the Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisition.” The 

key action that the directive mandated was the preparation of additional 

directives establishing the service acquisition executives. These, in turn, 

would appoint the program executive officers.

The goal of the office of under secretary of Defense for Acquisition, 

according to James Woolsey, a member of the Packard Commission’s 

Acquisition Task Force, was to achieve a fundamental or “cultural change” 

in the way the Pentagon purchased equipment.62 Instead, the office quickly 

came to suffer from its own form of the “revolving door” problem. 
216 Providing the Means of War

Almost immediately after passage of the legislation creating the office, 

President Reagan submitted the name of Richard Godwin, a Bechtel 

executive and long-time associate of Weinberger. The appointment of 

someone with “a solid industrial background” was in accordance with the 

recommendation of the Packard Commission.63 Godwin assumed his post 

on 30 September 1986, and resigned one year later, on 30 September 1987. 

His resignation reflected the Defense Department’s reluctance, according to 

Woolsey, “to move ahead vigorously with implementation of the Packard 

recommendations.” The institution simply “was not prepared to change the 

status quo.” Indeed, he observed, “everybody agreed that these changes 

were desirable so long as we did not make any change.”64

Godwin’s successor, Robert Costello, a former General Motors 

Corporation executive, served somewhat longer—a year and five months, 

from 18 December 1987 to 12 May 1989. By August 1989, when Ford 

Motor Company Vice President John Betti became the third under secretary 

for Acquisition in three years, the success of the Packard Commission 

recommendations and earlier Defense Department reform efforts was 

less and less clear. For example, a 1989 Senate investigation found that 

the Defense Department had not increased significantly its use of off-theshelf or commercial items despite a long history of directives (such as the 

Carlucci Initiatives) and legislation, including an amendment to the 1987 

Defense Authorization Act.65

Even earlier, a series of three 1986 Government Accounting Office 

(GAO) reports criticized the Defense Acquisition Improvement Program. 

While one report found that the Defense Department had improved its 

cost and schedule estimating capabilities, it noted that: “DoD has made little 

progress in stabilizing weapons acquisition programs. DoD still needs to 

budget more realistically, limit the number of new programs, and eliminate 

marginal programs.” Of the thirty-two Carlucci Initiatives, the Defense 

Department had implemented fully only ten. “The expected benefits have 

been fully achieved on four initiatives and partially achieved on the remaining 

six,” the GAO reported. The four initiatives were the reduction of milestones, 

the establishment of an acquisition council, the creation of a defense 

acquisition executive, and setting new thresholds for milestone reviews. 

The GAO also criticized the Defense Department’s lack of commitment: 

“We believe that the initial sense of commitment to the improvement program 

has dissipated. A strong DoD commitment is particularly crucial to achieving 

results because the problems being addressed are long-standing and not 

amenable to ready solutions. . . . We found that, however, the DoD has not 

carried through with its action plans on most of the program’s initiatives, 

and is not monitoring actions to ensure that results are being achieved.”66
an overview of acquisition 217

The GAO report that focused on the views of government and 

contractor program managers found that, overall, “the Acquisition 

Improvement Program has made little or no difference in the acquisition 

process.” Although the program had aimed at empowering program 

managers, about half of the government managers and nearly three-fourths 

of the industry managers indicated that the government manager’s authority 

was “only marginally adequate to inadequate.”67

On top of these and other studies of the Reagan administration’s efforts 

to reform the defense acquisition process, not to mention the loss of White 

House credibility that resulted from the Iran-Contra scandal, came Operation 

Ill Wind. Ill Wind investigated and revealed extortion, bribery, and 

kickbacks involving contractors, consultants, and the Defense Department 

(mostly Navy) officials.68 The Justice Department investigation involved 

search warrants and more than 250 subpoenas for documents and evidence 

on the activities of more than fifty private consultants and more than a dozen 

defense companies and industry executives, as well as Pentagon officials. 

Some of the convictions that resulted from the investigation included those 

of a high-ranking department official for selling his influence for bribes 

and leaking government information to defense firms bidding on weapons 

contracts; a consultant for arranging bribery payments to two Defense 

Department officials; and a large corporation for bribing government officials 

and conspiring to defraud the government.69

With the election of George H. Bush in 1988 came a chance to start 

military reform with a clean slate. However, his selection of Sen. John 

Tower, an unrelenting opponent of acquisition reform on the Senate Armed 

Services Committee, for Defense secretary, and his choice of vice president, 

Sen. Dan Quayle, who also fought acquisition reform legislation, did not 

foreshadow a strong reform effort. Nonetheless, President Bush ordered 

Defense Secretary Dick Cheney to report on implementation of the Packard 

recommendations as part of a national security review. Cheney concluded 

on an optimistic note: “While some progress unquestionable has been made 

since 1986, there is no basis for complacency. On the contrary, redoubled 

efforts will be required in order to realize improvements to the degree 

contemplated by the Packard Commission and the Goldwater-Nichols 

Act. But the progress to date does give cause for hope that the necessary 

consensus and commitment can be sustained in the coming years.”70

In hindsight, the perspective of 1989 necessarily was shortsighted, 

because the future is unforeseeable. History was on the precipice of 

dramatic events that would create a new world order, to borrow President 

Bush’s expression. Those evaluating the status of defense acquisition 

reform in 1989 were not aware that the Cold War was about to end. Nor 
218 Providing the Means of War

did they know that the United States and its allies soon would be involved 

in Operation DESERT STORM. Yet, despite all the changes, the drive to 

reduce federal spending and to reform the acquisition process would remain 

constants well into their unforeseeable future. 
an overview of acquisition 219

Notes

1

 Frank C. Carlucci, Report of the Secretary of Defense Frank C. 

Carlucci to the Congress on the Amended FY 1988/FY 1989 Biennial 

Budget (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 18 February 1988), 3. 2

 Paul E. Ceruzzi, A History of Modern Computing (Cambridge: MIT 

Press, 1998), 268–73. 

3

 American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research, The 

Candidates 1980: Where They Stand (Washington, D.C.: American 

Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research, 1980), 66–72. 4

 Caspar Weinberger, Report of the Secretary of Defense to the Congress

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1 February 1984), 100, hereafter cited as 

Weinberger, 1984. 5 Vincent Puritano, “Getting Ourselves Together on Systems 

Acquisition,” Defense ’81 (October 1981): 9. 

6

 Carlucci, Memorandum, “Improving the Defense Acquisition System 

and Reducing System Costs,” March 2, 1981, 59–60, in Puritano and Paul J. 

Berenson, Improving the Defense Acquisition System and Reducing System 

Costs (Washington, D.C.: Office of the Secretary of Defense, 30 March 

1981). 7

 Puritano and Berenson, Improving the Defense Acquisition System, 2, 

72. The names of the members of the five teams are on 72. 

8

 Joe Ferrara, “DoD’s 5000 Documents: Evolution and Change in 

Defense Acquisition Policy,” Acquisition Review (Fall 1996): 118–19.

9

 Weinberger, Annual Report to the Congress, Fiscal Year 1983

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, 8 February 1982), III-138. 

10 Weinberger, 1984, 100–101. 

11 Weinberger, Report of the Secretary of Defense to the Congress

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1 February 1983), 79–80. 12 David D. Acker, “‘Reform 88’: A Six-Year Program To Reduce Cost 

with a Target of 1988,” Program Manager 13 (January–February 1984): 

41; [Acker], “A Program to Improve Administration and Management in 

the Federal Government,” Program Manager 12 (January–February 1983): 

10. A search of several library catalogs has failed to reveal any reports on 

the results of Reform 88 either under the authorship of Martha Hesse, the 

Cabinet Council on Management and Administration, or the President’s 

Task Force on Management Reform. 

13 Acker, “‘Reform 88’: A Program to Improve Government Operations,” 

Program Manager 12 (March–April 1983): 44; Acker, “‘Reform 88’: A SixYear Program To Reduce Cost with a Target of 1988,” 39–40. 
220 Providing the Means of War

14 Lieutenant Colonel Alan W. Beck, “FAR Is Near! New Federal 

Acquisition Regulations for 1984,” Program Manager 12 (September–

October 1983): 26; Acker, “‘Reform 88’: A Six-Year Program To Reduce 

Cost with a Target of 1988,” 40. 

15 Beck, “FAR Is Near!" 26. 

16 Acker, “‘Reform 88’: A Six-Year Program To Reduce Cost with a 

Target of 1988,” 40. 

17 Executive Order 12369, “President’s Private Sector Survey on Cost 

Control in the Federal Government,” 30 June 1982. 

18 Preface, in President’s Private Sector Survey on Cost 

Control: Task Force Report on the Office of the Secretary of Defense

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1983), hereafter cited as OSD Task Force Report. 

Vol. 1–2, bound together, formed the final summary report presented to 

President Reagan. The two-volume final summary appears to have been 

published as J. Peter Grace, War and Waste: President’s Private Sector Survey 

on Cost Control (New York: Macmillan, 1984). Executive summaries for all 

task force reports appear on pages 407–531. Also relevant is Grace, 

Burning Money: The Waste of Your Tax Dollars (New York: Macmillan, 

1984). 

19 OSD task force members are listed in OSD Task Force Report, 345–

49. 

20 OSD Task Force Report, 338; Letter, OSD Task Force co-chairs to J. 

Peter Grace, in ibid. 21 OSD Task Force Report, vi, ii. 22 Ibid., iii. 

23 Ibid., ii, 3. 

24 Ibid., vi, 37, 198. 

25 Ibid., 146–47, 150, 156, 165, 171, 178, 189. 

26 Ibid., vi, 37–38. 

27 Ibid., 38.

28 On Goldwater-Nichols, see Dennis J. Quinn, The Goldwater-Nichols 

DoD Reorganization Act: A Ten-Year Retrospective (Washington, D.C.: 

National Defense University, 1999). I have omitted any discussion of 

Goldwater-Nichols from this paper, as it essentially impacted acquisition 

only indirectly, that is, through the requirements process. 

29 In Randall Fitzgerald and Gerald Lipson, Porkbarrel: The 

Unexpurgated Grace Commission Story of Congressional Profligacy

(Washington, D.C.: Cato Institute, 1984), the authors used the Grace 

Commission reports to attack Congress for interfering with the Executive 

Branch. A more balanced, albeit limited, study of the Grace Commission, 

is Charles H. Levine, ed. The Unfinished Agenda for Civil Service Reform: 
an overview of acquisition 221

Implications of the Grace Commission Report (Washington, D.C.: 

Brookings Institution, 1985). 

30 OSD Task Force Report, vi. 

31 Gary Hart with William S. Lind, America Can Win: The Case 

for Military Reform (Bethesda: Adler & Adler, 1986), ix–xi, 9–11. On 

maneuver warfare, see William S. Lind, ed., Maneuver Warfare Handbook

(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1985); and Richard D. Hooker, Jr., ed., 

Maneuver Warfare: An Anthology (Novatio, Calif.: Presidio Press, 1993). 

32 Daniel Wirls, Buildup: The Politics of Defense in the Reagan Era

(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 171, 177. See Dina Rasor, More 

Bucks, Less Bang: How the Pentagon Buys Ineffective Weapons (Washington, 

D.C.: Fund for Constitutional Government, 1983), for attacks on specific 

weapons systems. I have relied extensively on Wirls for the Military Reform 

Caucus as it is the only source to treat it in any systematic fashion. 

33 Wirls, Buildup, 171. 

34 Ibid., 95–97; A. Ernest Fitzgerald, The Pentagonists: An Insider’s 

View of Waste, Mismanagement, and Fraud in Defense Spending (Boston: 

Houghton Mifflin: 1989), 150–54. For background on the founding of the 

Project on Military Procurement, see ibid., 130–32. Also useful is Dina 

Rasor, The Pentagon Underground (New York: Times Books, 1985). 

35 Donna Martin, Defense Procurement Information Papers: Campaign 

’84 (Washington, D.C.: Project on Military Procurement, 1984), 23–26; 

Wirls, Buildup, 98. 

36 Quoted in “House Accord May Clear Way For Vote on Defense 

Measure,” Congressional Quarterly Weekly Report, 14 September 1985, 

1799. 

37 “SECDEF Weinberger’s 10-Point Program to Fight Price Abuse,” 

Program Manager 13 (July–August 1984): 30.

38 Weinberger, 1984, 104. 

39 Ibid., 105; Weinberger, Report of the Secretary of Defense to the 

Congress (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 4 February 1985), 87–90.

40 Weinberger, Report of the Secretary of Defense to the Congress

(Washington, D.C.: GPO, 5 February 1986), 107. 41 Wirls, Buildup, 182, 184. 42 Martin, Defense Procurement Information Papers, 95–99. On the 

Defense Department’s reluctance to implement the legislation, see Michael 

R. Gordon, “Help Wanted in Weapons Testing Office But Pentagon Slow To 

Fill Top Job,” National Journal 14 October 1984, 1914–17. 

43 Wirls, Buildup, 177. 44 See Andrew Mayer, The Competition in Contracting Act, 

Congressional Research Service, Report No. 85-115F, 14 May 1985; and 
222 Providing the Means of War

Curtis L. Coy, “The Competition in Contracting Act of 1984” (M.A. thesis, 

Naval Postgraduate School, June 1986). 

45 Wirls, Buildup, 179.

46 Ibid., 180; Martin, Defense Procurement Information Papers, 79–90. 

47 Wirls, Buildup, 180; Martin, Defense Procurement Information 

Papers, 31–36, 79–90.

48 President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, An 

Interim Report to the President (Washington, D.C.: The Commission, 28 

February 1986), 25–26; hereafter cited as Interim Report.

49 President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, A 

Formula for Action (April 1986), 1; President’s Blue Ribbon Commission 

on Defense Management, A Quest for Excellence (June 1986), 41; hereafter 

cited as Formula and Quest, respectively. 

50 Interim Report, 1, 3. 

51 Ibid., 5.

52 Ibid., 13–14. 

53 Ibid., 16. 

54 Ibid., 16–18. 

55 Formula, 11, 17–18. 

56 Ibid., 27–28. 

57 Ibid., 28–30. 

58 The chief additional recommendations related to rights to technical 

data and industrial mobilization. Quest, 41, 64–65, 70–71. 

59 See, for example, Thomas J. Peters and Robert H. Waterman, Jr., In 

Search of Excellence: Lessons from America’s Best-Run Companies (New 

York: Harper & Row, 1982). 

60 Quest, 41–42. 

61 Some examples are: Lieutenant Colonel Daniel G. Robinson, 

“Quality Circles: Are They Good for the American System?” Program 

Manager 11 (January–February 1982): 9–12; and Patricia A. Kelley, 

“Searching for Excellence in the Program Office,” Program Manager 13 

(July–August 1984): 20–25. 

62 U.S. House, Committee on Armed Services, Report on the Duties and 

Authority of the Under Secretary of Defense (Acquisition), 100th Cong., 1st 

sess., 16 November 1987, 3.

63 Interim Report, 16. 

64 Report on the Duties and Authority of the Under Secretary of Defense 

(Acquisition), 1, 35. 

65 U.S. Senate, Committee on Governmental Affairs, Subcommittee on 

Oversight of Government Management, DoD’s Inadequate Use of Off-theShelf Items, 101st Cong., 1st sess., 30 October 1989. 
an overview of acquisition 223

66 United States General Accounting Office, Acquisition: DoD’s 

Defense Acquisition Improvement Program: A Status Report, GAO/NSIAD86-148 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, July 1986), 1, 2, 13; GAO, Acquisition: 

Status of the Defense Acquisition Improvement Program’s 33 Initiatives, 

GAO/NSIAD-86-178BR (Washington, D.C.: GPO, September 1986), 2. 

67 GAO, Acquisition: DoD’s Acquisition Improvement Program: 

Program Manager’s Views, GAO/NSIAD-86-193FS (Washington, D.C.: 

GPO, September 1986), 1. 

68 Andy Pasztor, When the Pentagon Was for Sale: Inside America’s 

Biggest Defense Scandal (New York: Scribner, 1995), discusses Operation 

Ill Wind in detail, from the perspective of a journalist who covered the 

investigation. See, also, chapter 16, “Operation Ill Wind,” in Fitzgerald, 

Pentagonists. 69 GAO, High-Risk Series: Defense Weapons Systems Acquisition, 

Report GAO/HR-93-7 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, December 1992), 11. 

70 Dick Cheney, Defense Management: Report to the President

(Washington, D.C.: Department of Defense, July 1989), I, 1.

The Strategic Defense Initiative and 

Acquisition Reform: The Case of 

Brilliant Pebbles

Donald R. Baucom

The military-industrial complex does not appear to be a rogue elephant 

crashing through the jungle in whatever direction it pleases. Instead, it appears 

that this behemoth must be kicked and prodded onto another path. And, once there, 

it may come crashing back to the path with which it is more familiar.

Erik Pratt, 

Selling Strategic Defense, 1990.1

Introduction

In Selling Strategic Defense, Professor Erik Pratt tells us that the 

so-called military-industrial complex is similar to a dull beast plodding 

along in well-worn ruts. Only by kicking and prodding it can we force it 

onto a new course; and even if we succeed in changing its path, we must 

be constantly on guard lest the indolent creature return to its old ways. The 

case of the Brilliant Pebbles program suggests that something very similar 

might be said about the defense acquisition process.

Brilliant Pebbles, or BP, was a concept for a space-based, antimissile 

interceptor that was part of the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) launched 

by President Ronald Reagan on 23 March 1983. Compared to traditional 

military space acquisitions, BP was a radically different program. Instead 

of being built with components designed to rigorous military specifications 

for space-qualified systems, it was to be fashioned largely from off-theshelf, commercial quality components similar to those found in camcorders 

and desktop computers. Furthermore, in an effort to foster a spirit of 

partnership that would encourage innovation, program managers relied 

upon contractual arrangements that were more cooperative than legalistic.
226 Providing the Means of War

The man most responsible for developing this revolutionary acquisition 

strategy was Lt. General George L. Monahan, Jr., U.S. Air Force, director 

of the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization (SDIO), which had been 

chartered in April 1984 to manage the SDI program. Although his plan 

to eschew military specifications was firmly rooted in acquisition reform 

efforts of the 1980s, it met with a tepid response from the Department 

of Defense (DoD) acquisition staff. Furthermore, as Monahan and his 

successor continued pushing an innovative acquisition strategy that would 

also have been largely free of the constraints of DoD oversight, the defense 

acquisition staff steadily asserted its authority over the entire SDI program 

through measures that could be justified using the same reform literature 

that had inspired the Brilliant Pebbles acquisition strategy.

This odd turn of events flowed from the schizoid character of acquisition 

reform reports. On the one hand, those preparing the reports seemed inspired 

by the direct lines of authority and freewheeling environment that had 

prevailed in successful developmental organizations like Kelly Johnson’s 

legendary Skunk Works.2 On the other, they were committed to following 

sound, standard practices that could only be propagated and implemented by 

a strong, centralized acquisition authority. The conflict between these two 

poles is a strong underlying theme in the following story of SDIO’s efforts to 

acquire the Brilliant Pebbles interceptor.

The Advent of Brilliant Pebbles

The first director of the SDI Organization was Air Force Lt. Gen. James 

A. Abrahamson. Under his leadership, the SDI program was focused almost 

exclusively on research and development for its first two and a half years. 

By the end of 1986, progress in the program had convinced 

the secretary of Defense and President Reagan that SDI had advanced 

sufficiently to warrant taking the first step toward the deployment of missile 

defenses: they directed SDIO to submit a missile defense system concept 

for review by the Defense Acquisition Board (DAB). This concept was 

known as the Strategic Defense System (SDS) Phase I Architecture and was 

designed to meet the missile defense requirements established by a 23 June 

1987 memorandum from the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

During June and July 1987, the DAB reviewed the SDS Phase I 

Architecture and recommended that its six component systems be authorized 

to proceed into the demonstration and validation phase. These six original 

elements were the boost surveillance and tracking system, the spacebased interceptor (SBI), the battle management/command and control and 

communications system, the space-based surveillance and tracking system, 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 227

the ground-based surveillance and tracking system, and the exoatmospheric 

reentry vehicle interceptor system. When combined in accordance with the 

architectural concept, these elements would form a multi-tiered defense 

that could attack Soviet missiles and warheads throughout their flight. On 

18 September 1987, Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger approved the 

DAB’s recommendations.3

It was soon apparent that the original Phase I Architecture had two 

major deficiencies: It was too costly, and its space-based elements were 

vulnerable to attack by Soviet antisatellite systems (ASATs). The focus of 

vulnerability was the space-based interceptor, which was to be, in essence, 

an orbital garage housing a number of interceptor missiles. If a single 

Soviet ASAT could destroy an SBI, it would achieve a highly advantageous 

kill ratio by destroying multiple interceptors with one shot. 

A possible answer to these problems had begun to emerge several 

months before the 1987 DAB review. In November 1986, Edward Teller 

and his protege Dr. Lowell H. Wood, Jr., a scientist at Lawrence Livermore 

National Laboratory, had breakfast in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with 

Dr. Gregory H. Canavan of the Los Alamos National Laboratory. During 

the course of their conversation, Canavan suggested that the problems of 

vulnerability and cost associated with space-based missile defense systems 

might be overcome by developing small, autonomous interceptors whose 

sensors and powerful miniature computers would allow them to operate 

with little or no support from other satellites. Inspired by Canavan’s 

suggestion, Wood developed the concept for Brilliant Pebbles.4

Wood briefed General Abrahamson on an early version of BP on 24 

February 1987. This was a “stand-alone, ‘un-garaged’ interceptor” that 

weighed ten to twenty-five kilograms. This small size, Wood thought, would 

allow the interceptors to be placed in low earth orbit by a “laser propulsion 

system.”5

 In October, the full-blown BP concept was briefed to Abrahamson.6

By the time of his retirement from the Air Force at the end of January 

1989, Abrahamson had become a strong supporter of the Brilliant Pebbles 

concept. In his final report on the SDI program, General Abrahamson stated: 

“This concept should be tested within the next two years and, if aggressively 

pursued, could be ready for initial deployment within five years.”7

On 9 February 1989, a few days after Abrahamson’s retirement, 

President George Herbert Walker Bush delivered his State of the Union 

address. Here, he told Congress that he was

charging the Department of Defense with the task of developing a plan to improve 

the defense procurement process and management of the Pentagon, one which will 

fully implement the Packard commission report. Many of these changes can only 

be made with the participation of the Congress, and so, I ask for your help. We need 
228 Providing the Means of War

fewer regulations. We need less bureaucracy. We need multiyear procurement and 

two-year budgeting. And frankly—and don’t take this wrong—we need less congressional micromanagement of our nation’s military policy.8

Acquisition Reform: Mixed Signals

The recommendations of the Packard Commission of which Bush 

spoke were contained in the commission’s final report, Quest for Excellence

(June 1986), which had concluded that the defense acquisition process was 

fundamentally broken.

All of our analysis leads us unequivocally to the conclusions that the defense acquisition system has basic problems that must be corrected. These problems are deeply 

entrenched and have developed over several decades from an increasingly bureaucratic and overregulated process. As a result, all too many of our weapons systems 

cost too much, take too long to develop, and, by the time they are fielded, incorporate obsolete technology.

Such a situation could not be resolved through the application of a 

few management Band-aids, but rather required fundamental, institutional 

change, including the application of the concepts that collectively came to 

be known as Total Quality Management (TQM).9

In spite of its clarion call for acquisition reform, the Packard report 

displays a degree of ambivalence in its recommendations. While lauding 

the decentralization of authority that was a hallmark of TQM, the report 

also called for establishing the position of under secretary of Defense for 

Acquisition. This official was to set acquisition policy and oversee the 

acquisition process. Furthermore, while the report advocates streamlining 

the acquisition process, this would have entailed essentially recognizing 

three separate service acquisition fiefdoms in which program managers 

(PMs) reported through program executive officers (PEOs) to service 

acquisition executives, who in turn answered to the defense acquisition 

executive.10 Such short lines of communication might promise the PM 

quick access to top acquisition decision makers, but would also invite 

top-level meddling in program management. It was recommendations 

such as these that the Bush administration was now expecting the Defense 

Department to implement fully.

To guide DoD in its implementation efforts, on 25 February 1989, 

President Bush issued National Security Review 11, which directed the 

secretary of Defense to review existing management practices and make 

recommendations to improve the Pentagon’s ability to implement the reform 

proposals contained in the Packard Commission report. This was to entail 

an examination of DoD’s personnel and organizational structures, defense 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 229

planning, acquisition practices and procedures, and government-industry 

accountability. Where acquisition was concerned, NSR–11 directed the 

responsible defense authorities to:

• Define the appropriate role of the under secretary of Defense for

Acquisition.

• Streamline the acquisition management chain.

• Examine “the number of layers, multiplicity of reviews, and specific

advocates who intervene in the acquisition process and limit the ability of 

the program manager to function efficiently.”

• Seek “ways to return authority and responsibility to the designated

managers.”

• “Identify improvements in the process for defining military needs.”

• Consider “civilian participation in the process of defining

requirements and system specifications.”

• “Look for ways to make off-the-shelf systems and subsystems the first

choice of program managers.”

• Work “to streamline the use of detailed military specifications.”

Recommendations based on this review were to be submitted to the 

president by 10 May 1989.11

In response to NSR–11, Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney instituted 

the Defense Management Review (DMR), the results of which he reported 

to the president on 12 June 1989. The DMR’s principal recommendations 

were presented in the three main sections of the Cheney report. The 

Management Framework section stated that the Pentagon’s acquisition 

management structure was basically sound and delineated the 

responsibilities of DoD’s major officials and agencies with regard to the 

acquisition process. The DMR noted that the under secretary of Defense 

for Acquisition (USD(A)) must be responsible for policy, administration, 

oversight and supervision of acquisition matters, exercising his authority 

primarily through the Defense Acquisition Board.12

Yet, where the DAB was concerned, the reviewers seemed to be of two 

minds. On the one hand, the report called for the DAB to be streamlined 

by reducing its membership and curtailing the number of people serving 

on its standing and ad hoc committees. On the other, the report noted that 

the DAB should “rigorously oversee major systems acquisition, to ensure 

that the acquisition process is managed in a manner consistent with DoD 

policy.” This policy was to “define minimum required accomplishments, 

and permit additional program-specific exit criteria to be established by the 

USD(A), at each Milestone in a system’s life.” Overall, DAB reviews were 

to be the critical means through which the USD(A) controlled the acquisition 

process. In the words of the DMR report: “The paramount objective of the 
230 Providing the Means of War

USD(A) will be to discipline the acquisition system through review of major 

programs by the DAB.”13

To assist the USD(A) with his daunting management oversight tasks, 

the DMR report proposed strengthening his hand by making him “a key 

advisor to the secretary and deputy secretary on resource decisions affecting 

acquisition program baselines, including the cost, schedule and performance 

of all major systems.” It also called for the Joint Requirements Oversight 

Council to “assume a broader role in the threshold articulation of military 

needs and the validation of performance goals and baselines for all DAB 

programs at their successive milestones.”14

The DMR’s more specific recommendations for fully implementing the 

acquisition management reforms advocated by the Packard Commission 

were contained in the “Defense Acquisition” section of the Cheney report, 

which detailed the characteristics of successful acquisition management as 

described in the Packard report. These were:

• “Clear Command Channels,” which referred to the “clear alignment

of responsibility and authority, preserved and promoted through short, 

unambiguous chains of command to the most senior decision makers.”

• “Program Stability,” which concerned funding and management,

was to be achieved through the establishment of baseline figures for “cost, 

schedule, and performance.”

• “Limited Reporting Requirements,” which would be achieved by

adhering to “the principle of ‘management by exception’” that focused on 

“deviations from the agreed baseline.”

• “Small, High Quality Staffs.”

• “Communications with Users” to assure adequate understanding

of their requirements so that cost, schedule, and performance can be 

appropriately balanced.

• “Better System Development” to ensure that problems are discovered

and corrected before production begins. This should include “investing in a 

strong technology base that emphasizes lower-cost approaches to building 

capable weapon systems, greater reliance on commercial products, and 

increased use of commercial-style competition.”15

Under the concepts advanced by the DMR, clear command channels 

were to be achieved by establishing lines of authority and responsibility 

that flowed down from the USD(A) through “experienced, full-time” 

service acquisition executives (SAEs), who administered service programs 

“within policy guidance from the USD(A).” From the SAE, authority and 

responsibility flowed down through program executive officers (PEOs), 

who were key middle managers responsible to the SAEs for defined and 

limited groups of major programs, to individual program managers, who 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 231

were “vested with broad responsibility for and commensurate authority over 

major programs.” The goal was to “confine management accountability 

within this greatly streamlined chain of command, which was intended 

to capture all cost, schedule and performance features of all major 

programs.”16

The authority of the SAE was enhanced by giving him a voice in the 

selection of the PEOs. The SAE was also responsible for evaluating the 

PEO’s performance. The PEO and SAE were then responsible for selecting 

PMs and evaluating their performance.17

The OSD-service acquisition structure outlined above promised to 

streamline and strengthen the management of major systems acquisition 

within the military departments by fixing responsibility and defining 

authorities more clearly so as to sharpen accountability. At the same time, 

it “should help relieve PMs of requirements for repetitive reviews by and 

reports to service command layers” and help eliminate “duplicative or 

unnecessary functions and management layers.” The elimination of these 

unnecessary reviews and functions should facilitate substantial reductions 

in overall staffing, which was a facet of what the Packard Commission 

meant by streamlining. Furthermore, the Cheney report expected 

“streamlining of substantial magnitude” to result from the application of 

Packard Commission reforms to service acquisition processes.18

Another expected outcome of acquisition reform was reduced reporting 

requirements. The Packard Commission, as well as several earlier reviews 

of the defense acquisition process, had found that “the system is encumbered 

by overly detailed, confusing, and sometimes contradictory laws, regulations 

directives, instructions, policy memoranda, and other guidance.” As a result, 

little room now remains for individual judgment and creativity of the sort on which 

the most successful industrial management increasingly relies to achieve higher levels 

of productivity and lower costs. Much of this stifling burden is a consequence of legislative enactments, and urgently requires attention by Congress. Much also has been 

administratively imposed and requires prompt corrective action by DoD.19

To reduce the administrative burden that DoD had imposed on its 

own acquisition activities, Secretary Cheney directed the establishment 

of a “joint OSD-services task force to conduct a zero-based review” 

of acquisition guidance from the Defense Department and the military 

services. Chartered by the USD(A), this task force was to have a 

strong presumption against retention or duplication of guidance, absent a clear and 

compelling need. The burden of establishing such a need will be placed on the proponent of the guidance in question. Special scrutiny will be given to guidance that 

imposes or occasions unnecessary costs in the acquisition process; that inhibits the 

implementation of sound procurement policies such as “best value” competitive 
232 Providing the Means of War

practices and the buying of commercially-available products; that more narrowly 

confines the discretion of working levels than is required by law or sound management control; and that imposes unnecessary reports and review on program offices 

and contractors.20

The Cheney report went on to say that an integral part of the 

“concept of limited reporting and review requirements is the principle of 

management by exception—i.e., intervention by senior management only 

at milestone intervals, in response to a PM’s request, or in the event that a 

program encounters substantial problems in meeting its baseline.”21

Cheney’s submission of the DMR report to President Bush came 

as SDIO was exploring the viability of the Brilliant Pebbles interceptor 

concept. This timing assured that the DMR’s recommendations would loom 

large in the mind of the agency’s new director when he began to shape the 

BP acquisition strategy. 

Monahan’s Initiative: Brilliant Pebbles and Acquisition Reform

Like his predecessor, James Abrahamson, the second SDIO Director, 

George L. Monahan, Jr., was an Air Force lieutenant general. Born in 

Minneapolis, Minnesota, in 1933, he graduated from West Point in 1955 and 

later earned a master’s degree in electrical engineering from the University 

of New Hampshire. A fighter pilot with more than 3,500 flying hours, he 

flew 122 combat missions in Vietnam, including seventy-five missions 

over North Vietnam. As a senior officer he had served in several important 

posts, including system program director for the F–16 multinational fighter 

program, vice commander of the Air Force Systems Command, and principal 

deputy assistant secretary of the Air Force for Acquisition.22

During Monahan’s first year as SDIO director, analyses indicated that 

Brilliant Pebbles could resolve the cost and vulnerability problems of the 

Phase I architecture. Small and dispersed throughout large areas of space, 

the Pebbles would be difficult targets for Soviet ASATs. Even if an ASAT 

struck a Pebble, it would destroy only a single interceptor, a simple one-forone exchange ratio.

Regarding cost reductions, since BP interceptors were self-contained, 

they did not require the support of the large, vulnerable, and expensive 

garage that was a hallmark of the space-based interceptor. Further cost 

reductions were to be achieved by mass-producing the Pebbles and 

eliminating one and perhaps both of the original architecture’s two spacebased sensors.

Once it was clear that Brilliant Pebbles should be integrated into the 

architecture, the next step was to develop an appropriate acquisition strategy. 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 233

Here, SDIO was fortunate to have at its helm an officer with General 

Monahan’s knowledge of the acquisition process. He had worked in the 

acquisition field since 1972 and was well versed in its esoterica. Furthermore, 

Monahan had ample incentive to push for a streamlined acquisition process 

as called for by the Packard Commission and the DMR, for managing the 

acquisition of the SDS Phase I Architecture with its original six major defense 

acquisition programs (MDAPS) had become a heavy burden for SDIO. Since 

Brilliant Pebbles was rapidly becoming the key element in one of DoD’s 

most critical programs, Monahan might have sufficient leverage to convince 

the Defense Department to make the BP program a flagship program for 

acquisition reform. But before he could ask for more authority and autonomy 

from DoD, the general had to shore up his organization.

The SDI organization that Monahan took over was geared primarily 

for managing an R&D program, rather than for acquisition management. 

As a result, the general immediately began securing the expertise needed to 

manage the various architectural elements through the acquisition process. 

He also established a program control office and pursued the system 

engineering expertise required to support the overall SDI architecture and 

its major components.23

By the fall of 1989, the results of the various studies of Brilliant 

Pebbles were leaking out, making it increasingly apparent to Monahan 

that he would soon have to secure DAB approval for significant changes 

to the SDS architecture. On 20 September 1989, as SDIO’s Space-Based 

Architecture Study was nearing completion, General Monahan advised 

USD(A) John Betti that he would be prepared to present the study’s 

recommendation on the architecture to the Defense Acquisition Board that 

was scheduled for 12 December 1989.24 During the first week of October, 

Betti agreed to this review, but set the date for 11 December. At the same 

time, he advised Monahan to be prepared for another DAB review in the 

spring of 1990, at which time SDIO would be expected to present the 

“Baseline for the Phase I Strategic Defense System.”25

The results of the Space-Based Architecture study were briefed on 27 

November 1989 to OSD’s Strategic Systems Committee (SSC). About a 

week later, Dr. George R. Schneiter, chairman of the SSC, advised Betti 

that the BP concept seemed “to be an attractive alternative for the spacebased interceptor.” Schneiter noted that SDIO had recommended “pursuing 

Brilliant Pebbles, retaining a down-scoped effort on other SBI concepts for 

one to two years, and revising the Space Surveillance and Tracking system.” 

He then stated that his committee agreed with “SDIO’s general acquisition 

approach for the space-based elements.” However, the SSC recommended 

that SDIO complete “additional architectural trade studies to further refine 
234 Providing the Means of War

the ground- and space-layers” of the architecture. Finally, the SSC agreed to 

continue planning for the 11 December DAB review, which was to review 

the SDI program in the context of the funding guidance of National Security 

Directive 14. Should the funding profile advanced in this directive be altered 

significantly prior to 11 December, Schneiter wrote, the DAB review should 

be slipped to January 1990 to allow SDIO time to prepare a modified plan for 

the program.26

In fact, the 11 December DAB review was canceled, leaving several 

important issues unresolved. For one thing, General Monahan was eager 

to proceed with the Brilliant Pebbles program and had hoped to secure 

the DAB’s approval for proceeding with a concept definition study. The 

aerospace companies working on missile defense programs knew that 

the BP concept study was in the offing and were very interested in the 

project. As a result, Monahan was concerned that if the announcement of 

the contract were not promptly published in the Commerce Daily Bulletin, 

sensitive contract information might leak out. If that happened, bidders 

who failed to win a contract might have grounds for protesting that the 

competition had been unfair. 27

In response to these concerns, and because of the delays in scheduling 

a DAB review, DoD told General Monahan that he could proceed with his 

plans for managing the Brilliant Pebbles program.28 On 24 January 1990, 

the BP announcement for the Commerce Daily Bulletin was released. The 

next day, Monahan established the Brilliant Pebbles Task Force under 

Colonel Rowland (Rhip) H. Worrell, who reported directly to the Deputy 

for Projects, Dr. James Carlson. In addition to the nine people assigned 

to the Task Force, General Monahan instituted a management matrix that 

identified people in other offices who were to support the Task Force. By 

June of 1990, the full-time staff of the Task Force was expected to reach 

fifteen, with eleven coming from within SDIO.

29 Monahan planned to use 

his Brilliant Pebbles Task Force as the keystone in an innovative approach 

to managing the development and acquisition of BP.

In December 1989, Monahan launched his management initiative 

by proposing to Under Secretary Betti that they work together to reform 

the acquisition system. In Monahan’s view (expressed in a memorandum 

to Betti), the main problems with the acquisition process stemmed from 

intrusions into program management that were invited by the application 

of military specifications in the various programs and by the set of forty 

reports that was required each time the DAB reviewed a program. In 

Monahan’s words:

One of the problems is similar to that regarding military specifications and standards (wherein we tend to automatically impose them without regard to tailoring). 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 235

For every mil spec or standard, there is an engineer or engineering activity somewhere that is advocate/zealot/champion/guardian that seeks to ensure continued 

application. I tend to think the same is true with DAB documents.

He then argued that the answer to these problems was to apply the 

principles of Total Quality Management. “The DAB regulations and 

procedures,” Monahan stated, had “been prepared under the system of 

Pentagon-wide ‘coordination’ that allows every advocate/zealot/champion/

guardian to get his oar in the water. The result is burdens that are laid 

on without much consideration as to whether or not they are worth it.” 

Monahan argued that he could overcome this difficulty by establishing a 

process action team (PAT) with a carefully screened membership to provide 

DAB-type oversight of programs. “Under the PAT approach,” Monahan 

said, “burdens would have to fight their way in.”30

Six months passed before Betti mounted a significant effort to resolve 

the problems Monahan had identified in his memorandum. In the meantime, 

the SDIO director pursued innovations to the extent possible in his 

management of the BP program. One of the most important developments 

during this hiatus was the appearance of a report that raised questions 

about how well SDIO could handle a revolutionary program like Brilliant 

Pebbles. This report had been prepared by the Brilliant Pebbles Task Force 

of the Defense Science Board (DSB).

Established in June of 1989 to review and assess Brilliant Pebbles, the 

DSB BP task force submitted the results of its study to the Secretary of 

Defense at the end of December 1989. The task force found considerable 

merit in the Brilliant Pebbles concept and concluded that it could have a 

profound, positive impact on the U.S. missile defense program. However, 

the panel was skeptical of SDIO’s ability to manage the BP acquisition 

effectively. At that time, the task force noted, SDIO was focused on “the 

acquisition of one-of-a-kind or few-of-a-kind satellites.” As a result, agency 

might “find it difficult to take advantage” of the efficiencies associated 

with acquiring the large numbers of systems (several thousand) that might 

be required if BP were fielded. The DSB task force urged SDIO to “put 

more real effort into innovative approaches to manufacturing and launch of 

space-based interceptors, including automated factories, high-rate missile 

production techniques and facilities, and factory prepackaged launch and 

payload vehicles.”31

Beyond the potential problems associated with SDIO’s management 

orientation, the DSB concluded that the agency also suffered from a 

split personality as a result of having responsibility for both R&D and 

acquisition programs. These two responsibilities, the DSB report said, “are 

in competition especially in view of the nature of the existing acquisition 
236 Providing the Means of War

process.” Yet, this competition was unnecessary, for there was “no reason 

why the processes of exploring and getting ready to build cannot go on in 

parallel.” The members of the task force believed that 

there could be at any time a design that could be implemented, i.e., developed and 

deployed if necessary or desired, and an exploration of alternatives, with a mechanism for getting new and proven ideas into the current design. This is a reasonable 

approach if clearly delineated, the balance of the activities defined, and the transfer 

mechanism described. Once a firm decision to develop and deploy is made, the balance would necessarily change, but no such decision is imminent. There is not now 

a clear direction to SDIO about which of these objectives they are supposed to pursue and if both, as seems likely, the relative emphasis on the two.

The panel called for the secretary of Defense to resolve this ambiguity 

for the SDIO director.32

In the process of distinguishing between building and exploring, the 

panel noted that DoD “has a process for building things.” Though “costly, 

difficult, lengthy, and often criticized,” this process “does get things built.” 

However, the choice to build necessarily involved choices that limited 

alternatives. And it is here in the limiting of alternatives that the acquisition 

process had one of its greatest weaknesses.33

 The DSB report explored at some length the dilemma that routinely 

faces the program manager. The search for alternative approaches and 

new technologies always has the potential to produce innovations that can 

improve the system he is charged with developing. Yet, at some point, the 

PM must stop the concept development process and fix the system design 

so he can produce an operational system in time to meet the threat. In the 

words of the DSB report: 

The DoD does not have an effective process for doing a thorough exploration of 

alternative technologies and concepts. Exploration is usually done only as a part 

of the build process, because exploration is expensive and adequate funds are not 

made available unless a decision to build has been made. The build process, however, tends to shut off exploration, partly to save money and partly to make sure 

that no new idea will arise to interfere with decisions already made.

Much of the difficulty now being experienced with acquisition stems from setting 

detailed requirements before adequate exploration has taken place. Lacking the 

discipline that real knowledge brings to what is doable and how best to do it, these 

requirements are usually overstated, leading to the delays, overruns, and performance shortfalls that are so common. Perhaps even more serious, the build process 

fails to take advantage of new ideas and possibilities, both technical and operational. Serious consideration should be given to revising this procedure. We should 

explore first and then ask whether a buildable system is worth the cost rather than 

determining what is required first and then struggling to build it, whatever the cost.

This dichotomy is evident in the SDI program. Although the SDI is supposed to 

be a research and development program, the build model has been applied and has 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 237

led to fixing the system design too early before adequate exploration of alternative 

technologies was completed. The system has been divided into components, component descriptions have been set in concrete (or at least in molasses), and innovation has been thwarted despite efforts to encourage.

Serious consideration should be given to applying the exploratory design approach 

(of which Brilliant Pebbles is an example) across the SDI, to both the system and 

the elements. The same approach should be considered for other DOD programs as 

well. The exploratory approach involves the design by a capable organization with 

technical depth and experiment resources, operating under a minimum of procedural restraints, and with system specifications not yet fixed.34

Most of the views expressed in the DSB report were in consonance with 

the approach to BP acquisition that General Monahan was already working 

to implement. This is one reason that Monahan concurred with most of 

what the DSB recommended. However, when the panel concluded that 

“the SDI program appears to suffer from a conflict of purpose,” Monahan 

disagreed sharply. “Do not concur,” he responded.

I feel that my tasking in SDIO is quite clear as described in NSD-14. We plan to 

continue the innovative research required to provide exploration into new technologies while simultaneously preparing to support an informed deployment decision 

and subsequently the building and fielding of a Strategic Defense System.35

Even as Monahan reviewed the DSB report, he was working to 

establish management procedures for the Brilliant Pebbles program that 

would encourage innovation while simultaneously ensuring that any 

innovation would produce a system that could become operational in the 

shortest possible time. Underlying these procedures was the assumption that 

a contractor would prudently balance innovation with practical production 

considerations once he understood that he would have to produce the 

system he developed. During the conceptualization and development stages, 

flexible specifications would be used to give contractors the freedom they 

needed to produce creative and economical approaches to developing 

Brilliant Pebbles. In short, the emphasis would be on telling the contractors 

what (broadly speaking) they were expected to develop and then giving 

them the freedom to devise the best system design and the best way to 

develop and produce it.36

In early 1990, Monahan envisioned a four-phased, “horse-race” 

approach that would efficiently transition the Brilliant Pebbles program 

from the laboratories to mass-production by industry. This would start 

with a concept definition phase that would begin in June with the letting 

of contracts to four contractors or contractor teams. These contracts were 

to be for $1 million to $2 million each and run until about February 1991. 

The concepts that emerged from this first phase were to be evaluated 
238 Providing the Means of War

and the best two or three of the four selected. Starting in the fall of 1991, 

the two or three winning contractors/contractor teams would more fully 

develop their concepts during a pre-full scale engineering development 

stage. Monahan anticipated that the request for proposals (RFP) guiding the 

contractors would continue to be general and be perhaps no more than fifty 

or sixty pages in length. Of the philosophy behind this relatively brief RFP, 

Monahan said:

We will not impose any milspecs or milstandards, the goodness type specs. We will, 

however, state such things as we want, certain endurance out of a pebble, because 

they have to remain on orbit for so many years to operate and all that. But we are 

not going to tell industry how to go about doing that, but rather tell them what we 

want done. We will leave the how up to them. We are also asking them for any 

innovations that they would like to recommend regarding pebbles or anything similar to pebbles. . . . I would hope when we finally write the contracts for the pre-FSD 

phase that our specs in there would be something along the lines of build the hardware substantially in accordance with your proposal. If you want to deviate very 

much come talk to us.

Monahan believed this approach would allow SDIO to move through 

the pre-full scale development (FSD) phase much faster than would be the 

case if the acquisition followed conventional procedures. “We won’t have to 

be stopping and checking every step of the way,” he said, “to make sure that 

they are complying with lots of milspecs and milstandards. It ought to save 

a lot of paperwork [and] a lot of unnecessary testing.”37

The full-scale development phase was to begin in 1993. For this 

phase, the two or three contractors from pre-FSD would be reduced to a 

single contractor or contractor team, with a possible additional “follower” 

contractor serving as a backup to assure that there would be at least two 

sources available when the program entered the production phase. In this 

phase, military specifications and standards (milspecs and milstandards) 

would be carefully controlled by SDIO. “The whole point,” Monahan said, 

“would be to make milspecs and standards fight their way into the program. 

Make sure that we don’t mindlessly apply them, but rather [apply them] 

very judiciously.”38

Monahan realized that there was some peril in restricting the use of 

military specifications and standards, but he felt the risk was worth taking. 

As he put it: “You waive milspecs and milstandards with some peril 

because those specs and standards were derived from lessons learned. But 

lessons learned are always in need of review to make sure that they were the 

right lessons and that the lessons still apply.”39

In March 1990, Monahan launched BP’s concept definition phase 

with a bidders’ conference. About two months later, SDIO awarded $2 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 239

million contracts to each of six contractors who were to develop designs 

for Brilliant Pebbles over the next eight months. These designs were to 

be based on conceptual work done by Lawrence Livermore National 

Laboratory (LLNL) and would incorporate the results of tests already 

completed by SDIO. As Monahan had intended, no military specifications 

were imposed on the competing contractors. Rather, they were encouraged 

“to apply innovate design approaches from within the defense industry.” 

Those contractors who participated in the first stage would then be allowed 

to compete in the follow-on “pre-Full Scale Development Phase.”40

Ultimately, this program was expected to procure 4,614 interceptors.41

As Monahan was implementing his BP acquisition strategy, his efforts 

were bolstered by the recommendations of Ambassador Henry F. Cooper’s 

independent review of SDI, which had been chartered in December 1989 

by Secretary of Defense Cheney in accordance with the requirements 

of President Bush’s National Security Directive 14.42 Submitted on 15 

March 1990, Cooper’s report noted that the “development of a streamlined 

acquisition process that allows decision makers clear oversight of a 

research, development and test effort” was a matter of critical importance. 

Furthermore, he specifically endorsed Monahan’s management approach 

for the Brilliant Pebbles program and recommended its application to the 

entire SDI program. As he put the matter, the “Brilliant Pebbles technology 

and ‘development approach’ should be applied to other elements of the SDI 

program, as also was recommended by the Defense Science Board.”43

Where the specifics of streamlining were concerned, Cooper proposed 

organizing the Brilliant Pebbles program so as to

provide the SDIO/LLNL team with maximum flexibility in conceiving, testing, 

demonstrating and validating concepts that take full advantage of rapidly changing 

technology which is itself maturing toward an ‘on-the-shelf’ status. At the same, the 

competition being fostered for industry would take advantage of results from the 

LLNL activities (and industry’s own expertise, of course) to design, test and demonstrate particular Brilliant Pebbles concepts in a form that could be economically 

produced in large quantities. The winning contractor (to proceed with full scale 

development in FY93) would be selected on the basis of the performance and cost 

characteristics of the Brilliant Pebbles concept that contractor has demonstrated and 

validated in a dedicated test program, distinct from the LLNL test program ... .44

One of Cooper’s major reasons for pushing a streamlined acquisition 

process was to expedite the demonstration-validation phase of Brilliant 

Pebbles, which he praised strongly. Cooper said BP promised to 

be affordable, cost-effective, and survivable. Moreover, “no technological roadblocks to the Brilliant Pebbles system concept have been 

identified.”45
240 Providing the Means of War

Cooper’s report resulted in the generation of several taskings related to 

streamlining the acquisition process. Included here was a requirement for 

the director of SDIO to provide the funding in FY1990 and FY 1991

to support an accelerated schedule for Brilliant Pebbles research, development 

and testing aimed at exploiting the success of the program to date and supporting 

the development of a full range of deployment options for the President’s consideration. The Director, SDIO within sixty days will prepare a report assessing 

the degree of risk associated with a program that completes the currently planned 

Brilliant Pebbles testing in Fiscal Year 1992, and proposing measures to mitigate 

any risk identified.

Another tasking required the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition 

to “prepare for approval within 120 days a streamlined process for DAB 

oversight of SDI.”46 These taskings strengthened Monahan’s hand in his 

continuing efforts to streamline DoD’s management of the SDI program.

Within two weeks of the release of the Cooper Report, Dr. George 

Schneiter, head of the Strategic Systems Committee, discussed with General 

Monahan a DAB review that would be held in early May. The focus of this 

session was to be “the Brilliant Pebbles acquisition approach and how the 

overall SDI program” would “be handled by the DAB.” This would include 

a briefing by SDIO on its “entire Strategic Defense System (SDS), with 

particular emphasis on the near-term Phase I SDS that has already passed 

Milestone I as well as the Ground-Based Radar which is awaiting Milestone 

I approval.” SDIO was to include its recommendations on how the SDI 

program should be handled in the DAB process, “including milestone 

reviews, program baselines and exit criteria.”47

In preparation for the formal DAB meeting, the Strategic Systems 

Committee reviewed the SDI program on 1 and 8 June 1990. The 

committee again endorsed the SDIO acquisition strategy for Brilliant 

Pebbles, as it had done in November 1989. The discussions of how SDI 

should be managed in the DAB process led to the conclusion that the 

SSC itself should form a working group to examine the issue of decision 

authority for the Strategic Defense System “system of systems” concept. 

The objective of this approach would be to “minimize the administrative 

burden, allow the flexibility for intra-program tradeoffs and continued 

technical innovation, and provide a disciplined decision-making process.”48

During the formal DAB review of SDI that took place on 15 June 1990, 

General Monahan briefed the Board on the Brilliant Pebbles project the 

context of the overall SDI program. Additionally, he recommended that the 

ground-based radar be approved for Milestone I and that it be included in 

SDS Phase I. Monahan’s recommendations were accepted by the Strategic 

Systems Committee and then approved by USD(A) Betti. On 19 June, 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 241

Betti authorized Monahan to proceed with the Brilliant Pebbles program as 

briefed. Betti also directed the chairman of the Strategic Systems Committee 

to “define within two weeks, the Terms of Reference for a Process Action 

Team to make recommendations regarding the role of the DAB in the SDI 

oversight process as well as the DAB process to be applied to the SDS.” 

Among the things the DAB PAT was to recommend was how the phases of 

the acquisition process were to apply to the “SDS as an overall system.”49

It is indicative of the problems the acquisition process posed that almost 

eight months separate Betti’s decision on the DAB PAT and Monahan’s 

original suggestion that such a body be established. On 10 August 1990, 

Betti finally chartered a PAT “to make recommendations regarding the 

role of the DAB in the SDI oversight process.” The PAT was to prepare 

its proposals in anticipation of a tasking from the secretary of defense 

to streamline the defense acquisition process. The PAT’s objective was 

“to recommend a specific framework for the orderly and disciplined, yet 

streamlined, acquisition of the Strategic Defense System (SDS) and its 

elements.”50 The results of the PAT’s work would not become available until 

November 1991.51 By this time, SDIO had a new director and was pursuing 

a new architecture known as Global Protection Against Limited Strikes, or 

GPALS.

A “Fourteen-Humped Camel”: The Frustrations of Reform 

In addition to its affirmation of Brilliant Pebbles and BP’s role in 

furthering acquisition reform, the Cooper report of March 1990 laid out 

a new vision for missile defenses. This vision flowed from Cooper’s 

assessment of the strategic order that was emerging from a growing 

restiveness within the Soviet Union and the proliferation of ballistic 

missile technology. There were two major implications of these new 

strategic realities. First, there would be an increased likelihood of 

accidental and limited missile attacks against the United States. Second, 

theater missile attacks against U.S. interests around the globe, including 

deployed U.S. forces, would be far more likely. Under these conditions, 

providing protection against limited strikes (PALS) would be of paramount 

importance. Therefore, the U.S. should refocus its missile defense program 

on these newer threats.52

To meet the requirements of the new strategic order, Cooper envisioned 

an architecture centered on a space-based system that would provide an 

overarching missile defense layer. This space-based layer would contribute 

to both theater defense and defense of the U.S. homeland. Although Cooper 

considered Brilliant Pebbles the prime candidate for the space-based system, 
242 Providing the Means of War

he qualified this judgment by noting that the exact capability of BP against 

limited missile attacks, especially those by shorter range missiles, would have 

to be evaluated.53

In July 1990, Cooper became the third SDIO Director, succeeding 

General Monahan, who had retired from the Air Force at the end of June. 

By this time, the downward spiral of the Soviet Union was becoming more 

apparent, lending credence to the strategic view Cooper had expressed in 

his March 1990 report. It comes as no surprise, then, that this report became 

the blueprint for Cooper’s efforts to institute an SDI architecture more 

suited to the post-Cold War environment. 

Now called GPALS, this new architecture consisted of four major 

components. One was a ground-based national missile defense system 

to protect the United States. Another component was a ground- and seabased system to defend deployed U.S. forces and the forces and peoples 

of American allies. A third component was a space-based system (Brilliant 

Pebbles) that could protect any point on the globe against a limited missile 

attack. These three elements were integrated into a synergistic system 

by means of the fourth component of the GPALS architecture, its battle 

management/command and control system.54

After receiving a 31 January 1991 briefing on the new concept, 

President George Bush decided to adopt the GPALS architecture for the 

SDI program. Announcing the new orientation for the SDI program in his 

29 January 1991 State of the Union Address, the president said he had 

“directed that the SDI program be refocused on providing protection from 

limited ballistic missile strikes—whatever their source. Let us pursue an 

SDI program that can deal with any future threat to the United States, to our 

forces overseas, and to our friends and allies.”55

While pushing to gain acceptance for the GPALS concept, Cooper had 

also been advancing the BP program through the acquisition process in 

accordance with the streamlined acquisition strategy that General Monahan 

had laid out with USD(A) John Betti, who remained in office during the 

first six months of Cooper’s tenure. At the end of 1991, Betti resigned 

his office and was replaced on 1 January 1991 by his deputy, Donald J. 

Yockey.56

Shortly after Yockey assumed his new duties, Cooper initiated the next 

stage of the BP acquisition strategy. SDIO had hosted a workshop with the 

BP competitors and used their suggestions in shaping the solicitation for the 

full-scale development phase of the BP program. By having the competitors 

contribute to the development of the RFP that was issued on 18 January, 

Cooper had enlisted them in the effort to streamline the acquisition process, 

thereby giving them an interest in the successful outcome of the process. 57
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 243

This solicitation invited contractors to compete for two cost-plusaward-fee contracts. It also sought to drive home to the competitors the 

importance of the project they would be asked to complete. In the words of 

Cooper’s solicitation: 

As you are aware, the Brilliant Pebbles (BP) program is a cornerstone in the overall 

strategic defense program. The innovation provided by BP miniaturization makes 

autonomous operations in space possible. BP innovation also offers the potential to 

provide a survivable system which can be tested, thereby greatly increasing overall 

system confidence. I have specifically placed great emphasis on the BP program 

due to its great potential to revolutionize the space based architecture, its near term 

availability, and its low cost.58

In initiating the pre-FSD phase, SDIO emphasized that its goal for the 

BP program was to acquire an effective interceptor. To accomplish this goal, 

SDIO established four objectives for the competitors:

• Finalize the Brilliant Pebble system concept.

• Complete the system design.

• Develop and implement a comprehensive risk management/mitigation

program.

• Balance performance, producibility, operability, supportibility,

affordability, and schedule.59

As SDIO implemented the BP acquisition strategy, the acquisition staff 

in the Office of the Secretary of Defense became concerned that the new 

acquisition strategy would not provide adequate oversight for the program. 

Specifically, Dr. George Schneiter believed that the request for proposal 

for the pre-FSD contract “did not spell out a definitive program, but rather 

asked the contractors to propose a program that will ensure readiness for 

full-scale development at the conclusion of the pre-FSD phase.” As a 

result, Schneiter advised the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition 

that “there should be, at a minimum, a Strategic Systems Committee (and 

perhaps a DAB) review of the program prior to contract award.” Such a 

review would aim to “ensure that the contracts will in fact provide the 

wherewithal for Milestone II readiness–that is, that proper attention is 

given to technical risk management, test and evaluation, logistics and 

readiness planning, etc.” Additionally, Schneiter pointed out, this review 

would examine program requirements and ensure the existence of a proper 

program baseline.60

In response to Schneiter’s advice, USD(A) Yockey directed 

Ambassador Cooper to develop a Brilliant Pebbles baseline and present it 

to the Strategic Systems Committee. Based upon the results of this review, 

Yockey would then determine if a full scale DAB review of the program 

were in order.61
244 Providing the Means of War

SDIO leaders considered this review a regressive step in the effort to 

streamline the acquisition process and had opposed it from the outset. Dr. 

James Carlson, who presented SDIO’s position to Schneiter before his 

recommendation to Yockey was submitted, had argued against the OSD 

review. When Carlson advised SDIO’s Deputy Director, Army Major 

General Malcolm O’Neill, of Schneiter’s views, the general expressed his 

objections in a hand-written note. Speaking of the contracts that Schneiter 

felt obligated to oversee, O’Neill said they are “pre-FSD or Dem/Val 

contracts which are within MS I approval authority of SDIAE.”62

In keeping with O’Neill’s views, SDIO objected to Yockey’s call for an 

SSC review. O’Neill, signing the protesting memorandum for Cooper, noted 

that the June 1990 DAB had approved SDIO’s aggressive management 

strategy for the BP program. The missile defense agency would provide 

USD(A) full insight into the contracting process but believed that an SSC 

review before the contract was let would disrupt the contracting process.

Of the many options, one previously identified is to hold the review after the SSA 

[source selection authority] has made a selection and announcement, but prior to 

contract award. Please be advised that in the interest of streamlining, the period of 

time between decision and award is less than one week. Our ability to move quickly to award is based upon use of model contracts which permit contract details to be 

completed as a part of the BAFO [best and final offer] process. Should renegotiations be required based upon the SSC review, the possibility of contract protests can 

increase dramatically. Specifically, all competitors should have the opportunity to 

propose against any revised contract requirements.63

On the broader matter of streamlining the DAB process, O’Neill noted 

that “the need for the Defense Acquisition Board to review the entire 

GPALS program and approve a streamlined acquisition strategy” for the 

GPALS missile defense capability was of the “utmost concern.” This review 

would focus on “the system as a whole” and include acquisition strategies 

for both GPALS and its component elements.64

SDIO’s protest was in vain. On 26 March, Dr. Schneiter issued 

instructions to interested parties concerning the review of BP that the 

Strategic Systems Committee was to hold. In doing so, he provided an 

explanation of how Brilliant Pebbles had entered the SDS Architecture 

that had been approved by the secretary of Defense in September 1987 and 

indicated where BP was in the acquisition process. Brilliant Pebbles, he 

wrote,

has replaced the Space-Based Interceptor, which has received Milestone I approval 

along with the rest of the Phase I Strategic Defense System, in the Phase I architecture. No formal Milestone I will be held for BP. Also, because of the Nature of 

SDI’s acquisition approach for BP, many of the system and program details are yet 

to be determined.
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 245

The purpose of the review will be to ensure that the pre-FSD program will provide 

the wherewithal for Milestone II readiness–that is, that proper attention is given to 

technical risk management, test and evaluation, logistics and readiness planning, 

etc. Also, BP requirements, as derived from previous architecture studies, will be 

reviewed, along with the initial concept baseline.65

Schneiter continued in words suggesting less than full agreement 

with SDIO’s aggressive management approach. He realized that full 

documentation for the SSC review would not be available. Nevertheless, “it 

is important to begin now both to establish the framework for the program’s 

acquisition discipline (i.e., the baseline) and to establish the schedule and 

procedure for establishing exit criteria for Milestone II and providing the 

necessary documentation (e.g., TEMP, cost estimates, etc.).”66

Schneiter’s memorandum was followed a couple of weeks later by a 

directive from USD(A) Yockey announcing his intention to “review RFPs 

and contracts for selected major defense acquisition programs prior to 

their release or execution.” Yockey’s memorandum instructed the military 

services and defense agencies to notify the USD(A)

at least thirty days in advance of your intention to issue an RFP, announce the offeror selected, or award a contract for the demonstration/validation, engineering and 

manufacturing development, or initial production phases of a major defense acquistion program. In order to ensure that any necessary changes resulting from my 

review can still be made with minimum disruption, you may not release the RFP, 

award, or announce the winner of a contract until the completion of my review.67

With this directive, DoD’s acquisition staff was reasserting its 

authority and undermining the innovative management approach that 

Monahan had so hopefully initiated a scant year earlier. Nevertheless, 

Schneiter’s directive could be seen as being in consonance with the DMR’s 

recommendations concerning the central role of the USD(A) in disciplining 

the defense acquisition process.

On 12 April, SDIO officials, including Colonel Rhip Worrell, BP 

Program Manager, met with Dr. Schneiter to plan the upcoming SSC 

review of Brilliant Pebbles. During this review, the SSC would “assess the 

adequacy of the pre-FSD effort to reach Milestone II readiness in the fiftymonth period of performance.” In preparation for this SSC review, which 

was scheduled for 17 May, SDIO would present a series of four briefings 

to SSC members. These briefings, the first of which was given on 15 April, 

were to provide committee members with details on the direction, content, 

and philosophy of the BP program. Excluded from these briefings was 

any information that was rendered source selection sensitive by the BP 

contracting process. Since the 17 May review was scheduled after source 

selection but prior to contract award announcement, SDIO expected to 
246 Providing the Means of War

present at least some of the information excluded from earlier briefings at 

the 17 May meeting. Included here would be “design and program details 

based on the selected contractor proposals.” To be sure that sensitive issues 

would not be raised, all questions to be addressed at the meetings were to be 

submitted in writing and screened by Dr. Bruce Pierce of OSD’s Office of 

the Director of Defense Research and Engineering (DDR&E) and Colonel 

Worrell. Spelled out in a memorandum from General O’Neill, this process 

was designed to minimize “the impacts to the BP acquisition process” while 

providing “a process to address specific issues identified by members of the 

SSC.”68

Up to this point, SDIO had been able to proceed with its streamlined 

approach to BP acquisition and, by spring of 1991, was touting this 

approach in public releases on Brilliant Pebbles. SDIO claimed that the 

BP program was following a “different approach to the design process” in 

which development was not requirements driven. Instead, the emphasis 

was on “near-term capabilities over exotic future technology” with cost and 

vehicle weight being closely monitored. This meant that the BP program 

was being handled through a streamlined acquisition process that sought to 

“eliminate non-value added activities and maximize the unique contributions 

of both industry and the national laboratories. The complement of industrial 

and laboratory partners permits the program to maintain focus on the 

development of real capabilities while constantly seeking opportunities for 

innovation.”69

Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory was a major participant in 

this process. Its contributions included the development of BP mockups that 

were used in the proof of principle flight-testing that was already underway. 

As these tests were verifying the functional validity of the BP concept, 

LLNL was also developing more advanced component technologies that 

could be inserted in the BP system as it matured through the development 

process. Indeed, the development of these advanced technical components 

was LLNL’s major contribution to the BP program.70

LLNL’s efforts were complemented by the work of the six contractor 

teams that had been developing competing BP designs based on technological 

developments produced through LLNL. A “down-select” process was to be 

used to reduce these six to two in May 1991 in accordance with SDIO’s plans 

for the pre-FSD phase of the BP program. These two contractor teams would 

continue efforts to refine the BP design until one design was selected in 1995 

for full-scale engineering development.71

As planned, on 24 May 1991, SDIO announced that it was awarding 

cost-plus award fee contracts to Martin Marietta Corporation and TRW 

for the pre-FSD phase of Brilliant Pebbles. The first contract was for 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 247

$318,200,122, while the second was for $340,472,577, with both contracts 

running for fifty months from the date of the announcement. The two 

competitors were to develop a BP design that balanced “performance with 

producibility, operability, supportability, affordability, and schedule.” 

Additionally, perhaps reflecting the impact of the intervention of the 

SSC into BP management, the contractors were to provide “appropriate 

documentation and demonstration of their design to support a Milestone 

II decision to proceed into the Full Scale Development phase” of the 

acquisition process.72

The written, formal approval for issuing these two contracts was 

not signed until 28 May when Yockey issued a memorandum approving 

the SSC’s recommendation that BP’s pre-FSD contracts be awarded in 

accordance with SDIO’s plans. In the same memorandum, he approved the 

initial Brilliant Pebbles concept baseline and advised SDIO that it would be 

required to meet a DAB review in the fall. For this review the agency would 

have to provide “a GPALS System Threat Assessment Report incorporating 

a system level threat and element level countermeasures, which addresses 

Brilliant Pebbles.” Additionally, SDIO was to present updated versions of the 

following BP documentation: Test and Evaluation Master Plan, Life Cycle 

Cost Estimate, Acquisition Baseline, Funding Profile, and Independent Cost 

Estimate for CAIG review. “At the same time,” Yockey continued, “you 

should also provide a Brilliant Pebbles Integrated Program Summary, as 

well as Brilliant Pebbles performance requirements, which will be derived 

from JROC [Joint Requirements Oversight Council] -approved requirements 

documents.” Finally, Yockey advised the SDIO director that he was

directing the chairman of the Strategic Systems Committee to conduct a review 

of the program after completion of the System Requirements Review process and 

prior to the initiation of major flight testing. The purpose of that review will be to 

approve, before making a large commitment to testing, exit criteria for Milestone II 

and your updated integrated test plans for determining the satisfaction of those exit 

criteria.73

 The next day, Yockey advised the JROC that the recent SSC review 

had found that “there are currently no quantitative requirements for BP 

as part of Global Protection Against Limited Strikes.” He then asked the 

JROC to “expedite its efforts to validate the operational requirements 

document (ORD) for SDS Phase I, which contains quantitative operational 

requirements for protection against limited ballistic attacks.” Additionally, 

the JROC should “validate a Mission Need States and, as soon as 

possible after submission, the ORDs for Theater Missile Defense.” This 

documentation was required “as soon as possible to support the planned 

November DAB review of the GPALS program.”74
248 Providing the Means of War

In September 1991, the DAB staged an intermediate review of 

the GPALS program as a precursor to the formal review scheduled for 

November. This intermediate review, which took place on 12 September 

1991, had two principal aims: to select an acquisition strategy for GPALS 

and to discuss the content and timing of the November DAB. On 20 

September, Yockey approved the recommendations that emerged from 

the review. The key decision here was that the GPALS program should be 

treated as six separate major defense acquisition programs. These were 

the battle management, command, control, and communications system; 

the Global Missile Defense (Brilliant Pebbles); the National Missile 

Defense (NMD) system; the Upper Tier Missile Defense (UTTMD) system; 

Patriot; and Corps SAM. Each of these MDAPS was to have an associated 

operational requirements document. Yockey also called for the submission 

within two weeks of a white paper on the GPALS management strategy that 

would reflect the results of the 12 September DAB review. If there were 

any doubts that the USD(A) and his staff were reasserting their authority 

over Brilliant Pebbles and GPALS, it should have been eliminated by the 

following paragraph.

There will be two DABs before the end of the calendar year. The first DAB will 

focus on acquisition baselines, associated requirements, and updates to all other 

GPALS documentation consistent with the White Paper. The acquisition program 

baselines as prescribed in DODI 5000.2-M shall be submitted for GPALS, GMD, 

NMD and UTTMD prior to this DAB. DAES [Defense Acquisition Executive 

Summary] reporting as prescribed in 5000.2-M for these MDAPS will commence ninety days after approval of these baselines. SARs [selected acquisition 

reports] (as of December 1991) for each of these MDAPs will be submitted no 

later than February 1992. The second DAB will be a Milestone I for the UTTMD 

system with its initial elements, which include the Theater High Altitude Area 

Defense (THAAD) interceptor and the Tactical Missile Defense Ground Based 

Radar (TMD-GBR). Issues for the UTTMDS DAB will be provided in a separate 

memorandum.75

With this memorandum, Yockey applied standard DOD acquisition 

directives to the entire GPALS program, including Brilliant Pebbles.

The White Paper on GPALS Acquisition Management that Yockey had 

called for was promulgated by a 1 November USD(A) memorandum. It had 

originated earlier as a draft developed by SDIO during the summer and was 

then circulated through the defense acquisition community for review and 

comment. The compromise document that resulted from the coordination 

process was then reviewed by the Strategic Systems Committee in a 25 July 

meeting. While the version of the White Paper approved by the SSC did 

not grant SDIO all its points, it did limit to six the number of DAB reviews 

required for the GPALS program. Since this number could have gone as 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 249

high as twelve, and since each review would normally involve something 

like forty reporting requirements (some of which require a six-month lead 

time), SDIO’s leadership was reasonably pleased with the end result. Still, 

that the outcome of this process was less than optimal from the perspective 

of SDIO is suggested by a comment from Dr. Edward Gerry, SDIO’s 

System Architect, who referred to the compromise management approach as 

a “fourteen-hump camel.”76

The White Paper indicates that the defense acquisition establishment 

had recaptured the BP program and reasserted its authority over all major 

defense acquisitions. Over the months since Monahan and Betti had agreed 

to use BP as a flagship program for streamlining the acquisition process, 

OSD’s acquisition staff had stripped away the special features that were to 

have been the hallmarks of the new approach.

Five weeks after the White Paper was issued, the frustrations of 

program management under the strictures of the acquisition process 

boiled to the surface. Chafing under the demands of the Strategic and 

Conventional Systems Committees, on 9 December 1991, Ambassador 

Cooper fired off to Yockey a four-page memorandum that was backed up by 

more than fifty pages of supporting documents. Here, Cooper complained 

about the deficiencies of the acquisition process, noting that there was no 

evidence in the acquisition bureaucracy of the sense of urgency that both 

the president and the Congress had expressed where the GPALS program 

was concerned. He also expressed pique over the cancellation of a DAB 

review that could have provided the “adult supervision” missing from 

meetings of the Strategic and Conventional Systems Committees. Cooper’s 

most caustic comment came in response to difficulties he had experienced 

in trying to move forward with a traveling wave tube (TWT) project that 

was critical to radar developments. In his words:

I find it absolutely ludicrous that this so-called oversight process has not only wasted time and money but is now demanding that I budget substantially more funds 

than what we are confident would support a TWT DEM/VAL program to cover the 

bureaucracy’s collective incompetence in carrying out our decision to compete the 

family of radars.77

In his March 1990 report, Cooper had strongly endorsed the reforms 

Monahan was pursuing in his efforts to streamline the acquisition process 

and had himself worked to implement the reforms. The ire Cooper 

expressed in his 9 December memorandum indicates that Monahan’s reform 

initiative was dead within six months of the general’s retirement from the 

Air Force in June 1990. How could this have happened to an acquisition 

strategy based on the streamline precepts advanced in the major acquisition 

reform documents of the eighties?
250 Providing the Means of War

Conclusion

The reform efforts of the 1980s had culminated in the Defense 

Management Review of 1989. Reflecting much of what was said in earlier 

acquisition reform studies such as the report of the Packard Commission, 

the DMR report attempted to meld together two competing approaches 

to acquisition management. On the one hand, it talked extensively 

about the importance of streamlining the acquisition process through 

actions like maximizing the authority of program managers. On the 

other, the report insisted that the USD(A) was the key authority in 

the defense acquisition process and that he had to discipline the process 

through a rigorous review process exercised through the defense acquisition 

board.

When SDIO introduced the Brilliant Pebbles project in 1989, it 

developed an acquisition strategy based on the streamlining tenets that 

had been advanced in the 1980s reform literature. Nothing less would 

do for the development of a revolutionary interceptor concept based on 

off-the-shelf technology and produced through a cooperative arrangement 

with industry and a national laboratory. However, when SDIO implemented 

the BP acquisition strategy, that strategy clashed with the efforts of 

DoD’s acquisition management staff, which was itself intent on 

implementing reforms that would tighten up the management of DoD’s 

acquisition programs. The DoD office prevailed and the acquisition process 

slipped back into its established, bureaucratic approach to acquisition 

management.

There would seem to be a lesson here that goes beyond the story 

of Brilliant Pebbles. Members of the acquisition community are pulled 

between two paradigms. On the one hand there is the view flowing out 

of the experience with the Skunk Works that genius should rule. Truly 

effective, revolutionary systems come most often and most efficiently 

from freewheeling, developmental hives such as the Skunk Works where 

individual initiative is encouraged and short lines of authority prevail.

On the other hand, there is the view of the DoD acquisition staff, 

jaded and bloodied by its battles with service bureaucracies, Congress, and 

watch-dog groups, including the press. The perspective here is that without 

proper oversight, acquisition programs are prone to overrun their budgets, 

deviate from program schedules, and produce weapons that do not live up 

to the promises of technology. From the viewpoint of the DoD acquisition 

staff, the value of efficiency and dramatic advances in weaponry must be 

weighed against freedom from scandal and the avoidance of catastrophic 

program failures. 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 251

Given these competing concerns and the absence of a major national 

crisis, we are unlikely to see the application of the Skunk Works model to 

anything other than relatively small black programs. 
252 Providing the Means of War

Notes

1 Eric K. Pratt, Selling Strategic Defense: Interests, Ideologies, and the 

Arms Race (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1990), 136–37. 2

 Two works on the Skunk Works are Clarence L. “Kelly” Johnson, 

with Maggie Smith, Kelly: More Than My Share (Washington, D.C.: 

Smithsonian Institute Press, 1985), and Ben R. Rich and Leo Janos, Skunk 

Works: A Personal Memoir of My Years at Lockheed (New York: Little, 

Brown and Company, 1994).

3

 Department of Defense, Office of Assistant Secretary of Defense 

(Public Affairs), News Release No. 483–87, “SDI Gains Milestone I 

Approval,” 18 September 1987. 4 Ralph Kinney Bennett, “Brilliant Pebbles: Amazing New Missile 

Killer,” Reader’s Digest (September 1989): 128–33; William J. Broad, 

Teller’s War (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992), 251–53. Bennett’s 

account does not include Teller in the November 1986 breakfast episode. 

Broad’s account, based at least in part on Bennett’s earlier article, adds 

Teller to this meeting. This addition is apparently based on Broad’s own 5 

December 1989 interview with Canavan. 5 Lowell H. Wood, “Operational Strategic Defense in the ‘80s: Very 

Near-Term Launch Capability for a Nitze-Satisfying SBKKV System,” 

Presentation to Lieutenant General James A. Abrahamson, in the Pentagon 

(Room 2E252), 24 February 1987.

6

 Bennett, “Brilliant Pebbles,” 131–32, states that Wood and Teller first 

briefed Abrahamson on Brilliant Pebbles in the general’s Pentagon office in 

October 1987. At this meeting, Abrahamson committed himself to visiting 

Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory to receive a further briefing 

on the new interceptor concept. Abrahamson supposedly fulfilled this 

commitment the day before Thanksgiving in 1987. 7

 James A. Abrahamson, Memorandum for deputy secretary of Defense, 

subj: “’End of Tour Report,’—Information Memorandum,” 9 February 

1989, Attachment 1, “Lieutenant General Abrahamson’s Recommendations: 

SDI Breakthrough Architectures,” 1–1 through 1–3.

8

 George Herbert Walker Bush, “Address on Administrative Goals 

Before a Joint Session of Congress,” 9 February 2001, 6, downloaded from 

bushlibrary.tamu.edu/papers/1989/ 89020900.html on 5 July 2001.

9

 The President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, A 

Quest for Excellence, Final Report to the President (30 June 1986), 41–42, 44.

10 Ibid., 41–42, 52–54.

11 George Herbert Walker Bush, National Security Review 11, 

Memorandum for the acting secretary of defense and the chairman, Joint 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 253

Chiefs of Staff, subj: “Defense Management Review,” 25 February 1989, 1, 

3 (hereafter cited as NSR 11, 25 Feb 89). 12 U.S. Department of Defense, Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney, 

Defense Management: Report to the President, July 1989 (hereafter cited as 

Cheney, Defense Management), 2–8. See especially 3, 5–7.

13 Ibid., 6–7.

14 Ibid., 7.

15 Ibid., 8–20. The characteristics are listed and briefly defined on 8. 

The remainder of Section III elaborates on these characteristics.

16 Ibid., 8–9; emphasis in original.

17 Ibid., 9.

18 Ibid., 10. Appendix A of the Cheney report provides information 

about the defense acquisition structure. It showed a total of 582,131 people 

(551,764 civilians and 30,367 military) in the acquisition structure. All but 

85,402 of these people were in service acquisition agencies. Of this 85,402, 

53,929 were in the Defense Logistics Agency.

19 Ibid., 11.

20 Ibid., 11–12.

21 Ibid., 12.

22 Members of the SDI Organization were stunned and saddened when 

the general died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 59, less than three 

years after his retirement. For obituaries, see Washington Post, 6 February 

1993; and New York Times, 6 February 1993.

23 Lieutenant General George L. Monahan, Jr., SDIO director, Interview 

with Lieutenant Colonel Donald R. Baucom, SDIO historian, the Pentagon, 

Washington, D.C., 6 September 1989, 1–2. 24 George L. Monahan, Memorandum for under secretary of Defense 

(Acquisition), Thru: chairman, Strategic Systems Committee, subj: “Review 

of the Space Segment of the Phase I Strategic Defense System (SDS),” 20 

September 1989.

25 John Betti, Memorandum for director, Strategic Defense Initiative 

Organization, subj: Defense Acquisition Board (DAB) Review of the 

Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) Program,” 3 October 1989. The DAB that 

was to be held in the spring of 1990 was orginally scheduled for the fall of 

1989.

26 George R. Schneiter, Memorandum for under secretary of Defense 

(Acquisition), subj: Report on Strategic Systems Committee (SSC) 

Meeting on Space-Based Architecture (SBA) Study, 4 December 1989. 

National Security Directive 14 provided overall program guidance for the 

modernization of America’s ICBM force and for the development of SDI. 

NSD–14 refers to George Bush, Memorandum for the vice president et al., 
254 Providing the Means of War

subj: “ICBM Modernization and Strategic Defense Initiative,” National 

Security Directive 14, 14 June 1989. Where SDI was concerned, this directive 

called for conducting a “robust program within fiscal constraints.” Within this 

robust program, the secretary of Defense was to determine “the feasibility 

of promising concepts for effective boost-phase defenses” such as Brilliant 

Pebbles “on an expedited basis.” Furthermore, as a hedge against possible 

problems with BP, the SDI program should continue to fund other Phase 

I systems. It was NSD–14 that also charged the secretary of Defense with 

completing a review of the SDI program (page 4). This charge resulted in the 

completion of Henry F. Cooper, SDI Independent Review, 15 March 1990 

(hereafter cited as Cooper, Independent Review), which is discussed below.

27 George R. Schneiter, Memorandum for the under secretary of 

Defense for Acquisition, subj: “Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) Program 

Review,” 16 January 1990.

28 Schneiter, Memorandum, “Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) 

Program Review,” 16 January 1990; George R. Schneiter, Memorandum 

for the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition, subj: “Strategic Defense 

Initiative (SDI) DAB Review,” 6 February 1990. In this second memo, 

Schneiter wrote: “In a previous memorandum, I discussed some outstanding 

SDI acquisition issues. Following your direction to deal with what I could 

at my level, I informed the SDI Organization they should take the next steps 

in their recommended Brilliant Pebbles acquisition approach.” Additionally, 

on 16 January 1990, General Monahan discussed the SDI program with 

Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney, who had advised Monahan that he 

expected the General to proceed with the program. Monahan interpreted 

these instructions as meaning that a DAB was not required for approval of 

his acquisition strategy for Brilliant Pebbles. Furthermore, the General laid 

out his plan for releasing the BP concept study RFP in the Commerce Daily 

Bulletin. (Donald R. Baucom, Notes from SDIO Staff Meeting, 17 January 

1990.)

29 George L. Monahan, Jr., Memorandum for deputies and directors, 

subj: “Brilliant Pebbles Task Force,” 25 January 1990. The date for the 

release of the CDB announcement comes from Donald R. Baucom, Notes 

from SDIO Staff Meeting, 26 January 1990.

30 Monahan, Memorandum, “DAB Process,” 28 December 1989. For 

a critique of the role of military specifications in the acquisition process, 

see Wendy T. Kirby, “Expanding the Use of Commercial Products and 

‘Commercial-Style’ Acquisition Techniques in Defense Procurement: A 

Proposed Legal Framework,” Appendix H in President’s Blue Ribbon 

Commission on Defense Management, A Quest for Excellence, Final 

Report to the President (30 June 1986), Appendix, 71–107. On page 75, 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 255

the reader is told that in the February 1986 interim report, the commission 

said that “rather than relying on excessively rigid military specifications, 

DoD should make much greater use of components, systems, and services 

available ‘off the shelf.’ It should develop new or custom-made items 

only when it has been established that those readily available are clearly 

inadequate to meet military requirements.” This same statement also 

appeared in an April 1986 interim report from the commission. Appendix 

K presents the results of a survey of the DoD acquisition work force. 

According to page167, this survey showed that “a strong majority of the 

acquisition work force (both contract specialists and other members of 

the acquisition team) agree that military specifications are too extensive 

for some of the products bought.” Additionally, “a strong majority of the 

acquisition work force agree that the bureaucracy under which defense 

projects are developed and operated contributes to inefficiency.” Brilliant 

Pebbles is clearly an effort to implement this recommendation.

31 Report of the Defense Science Board on SDIO Brilliant Pebbles, 

December 1989, 1, 3.

32 Ibid., 5.

33 Ibid., 5–6.

34 Ibid., 6. One method for dealing with this problem is to fix the 

design and produce the system and then make necessary modifications at 

a modification depot before the system enters operational service. This 

was done in World War II aircraft. More recently, systems are acquired in 

blocks, with the first and intermediate block designs including interfaces 

that can be used to incorporate upgrades. More recently, this approach to 

incorporating more advanced concepts and technologies is referred to as 

spiral development.

35 Monahan, Memorandum for the secretary of Defense, 27 April 1990. 

National Security Directive 14 provided overall program guidance for 

the modernization of America’s ICBM force and for the development of 

SDI. 

36 George L. Monahan, Jr., Interview with Lieutenant Colonel Donald 

R. Baucom, SDIO Offices, Washington, D.C., 29 March 1990, 6 [hereafter 

cited as Monahan, Interview, 29 March 1990]. One sees in this approach 

to managing the Brilliant Pebbles program Monahan’s earlier experience 

with military specifications and his belief that these specifications tend to 

introduce a degree of rigidity into the development process. Monahan also 

summarized his BP acquisition strategy in Monahan and Wood, “BP Press 

Conference,” 9 February 1990, 5–6. This account of the strategy melds 

together what Monahan said in his 9 February press conference with what 

he said in the 29 March interview.
256 Providing the Means of War

37 Monahan, Interview, 29 March 1990, 6–8. Compare the block 

quotation in the text with the following Monahan statement made during in 

the 9 February 1990 press conference:

In pre-full scale development, here’s where we’re going to really invite the inventiveness and innovative capability of American industry. We’re going to tell them 

to build and flight test so many interceptors and life jackets based on the Lawrence 

Livermore design. By the way, if they want to provide us with some excursions and 

say, hey, there’s even a better way to do it, find, we’ll be happy to address those.

We’re not going to impose any MilSpecs or MilStandards during this phase. We’ll 

simply say you have to meet certain costs and endurance goals, etcetera. It will be up 

to the contractors themselves to try to figure out how to do that rather than having an 

imposition on the part of the government for the top down. I say again, we emphasize 

simplicity of design, low production costs, short [and] concise proposals–about fifty 

pages. I don’t know if we can do that, but we’re going to try something like that. 

Cost reimbursable contracts . . . I don’t think I can perhaps be quite as loose as it says 

there, but I’d like to be able to specify for that stage that rather than having a detailed 

system specification from us, that we would simply be able to tell a contractor build 

substantially in accordance with the proposal you gave us and that we iterated with 

you. If you want to deviate from that very much, let us know. (page 5)

38 Monahan, Interview, 29 March 1990, 8.

39 Ibid.

40 George L. Monahan, Memorandum for Prospective Offerors, subj: 

“Solicitation Release for Concept Definition Phase of the Brilliant Pebbles 

System, FRP No. SDIO84-90-0004,” 9 March 1990; [Strategic Defense 

Initiative Organization], Memorandum for Correspondents, 24 May 1990; 

Vincent Kiernan, “Technology To Deploy Brilliant Pebbles ‘At Hand,’ 

SDIO Says,” Space News (12–18 February 1990): 4, 28. The six contractors 

participating in this stage of the BP development program were Ball Space 

Systems Division, Boulder, Colorado; Boeing Aerospace and Electronics, 

Seattle, Washington; Martin Marietta Space Systems, Denver, Colorado; 

Raytheon Company, Missile Systems Division, Bedford, Massachusetts; 

Rockwell International Corporation, Space Transportation Systems 

Division, Downey, California; and TRW Space and Technology Group, 

Military Space Systems Division, Redondo Beach, California. 41 Monahan and Wood, “BP Press Conference,” 9 February 1990, 13. 

This answer was given in response to a question at the press conference. 

The number 4,614 was for the number of interceptors procured and not 

the number to be included in the operational BP constellation. Reports in 

the press mistakenly related this number to the operational constellation. 

Kiernan, “Technology To Deploy” states: “Monahan said the constellation 

would consist of 4,614 pebbles, including spares.” Monahan’s answer was 

not phrased like this. A similar error appears in “Pebbles’ Progress,” Wall 

Street Journal, 28 February 1990: 28, as reprinted in Office of Assistant 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 257

Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs, Current News: Special Edition: 

Strategic Defense Initiative, April 1990, 44. 42 Dick Cheney, Memorandum for secretaries of the Military 

Departments et al., subj: “Independent Review of the Strategic Defense 

Initiative Program,” 22 December 1989; Larry Burger, Memorandum for 

the under secretary of Defense (Acquisition), subj: “Terms of Reference 

(TOR) for the Process Action Team on SDI,” 10 July 1990. Burger was 

an official in DDR&D[S&TNF]. George Bush, Memorandum for the 

vice president et al., subj: “ICBM Modernization and Strategic Defense 

Initiative,” National Security Directive 14, 14 June 1989, 4.

43 Henry F. Cooper, SDI Independent Review, 15 March 1990 (hereafter 

cited as Cooper, Independent Review), front material and 6. 44 Ibid., 16–17.

45 Ibid., Executive Summary, 2.

46 Ibid., front material.

47 George R. Schneiter, Memorandum for the under secretary of 

Defense for Acquisition, subj: “Strategic Defense Initiative DAB Review,” 

27 March 1990.

48 George R. Schneiter, Memorandum for the under secretary of 

Defense for Acquisition, subj: “Report on Strategic Systems Committee 

(SSC) Meetings on Strategic Defense Initiative SDI,” 13 June 1990.

49 John Betti, Memorandum for Director of the Strategic Defense 

Initiative Organization and Chairman of the Strategic Systems Committee, 

subj: Acquisition Decision Memorandum for Strategic Defense Initiative 

Program, 19 June 1990.

50 John Betti, “Terms of Reference for the Process Action Team on the 

Strategic Defense Initiative in the Defense Acquisition Board Process,” 10 

August 1990.

51 Don Yockey, Memorandum for the Director of the Strategic Defense 

Initiative Organization and the Chairman of the Strategic Systems 

Committee, subj: “Global Protection Against Limited Strikes (GPALS) 

Management Strategy,” 1 November 1991, with attachment, “GPALS 

Acquisition Management Strategy,” White Paper [5 November 1991].

52 Cooper, Independent Review, 4, 25–29. For Cooper’s views on trends 

toward the increasing threat of limited missile attacks see 1, 55–79.

53 Cooper, Independent Review, 26–29.

54 Strategic Defense Initiative Organization, 1991 Report to the 

Congress on the Strategic Defense Initiative, May 1991, 2-2–2-9. 55 George H. W. Bush, “State of the Union Address,” 29 January 1991. 

Fred Barnes, “White House Watch: Brilliant Pebbles,” The New Republic (1 

April 1991): 10.
258 Providing the Means of War

56 Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, Department of 

Defense Key Officials: 1947–2000 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 2000), 21. 57 Henry F. Cooper, Memorandum for Pre-Full Scale Development 

Phase of the Brilliant Pebbles System, RFP No. SDIO 84-91-R-0003, 16 

January 1991; [Strategic Defense Initiative Organization], Memorandum for 

Correspondents No. 038–M, 18 January 1991.

58 Cooper, Memorandum, 16 January 1991; Memorandum for 

Correspondents No. 038–M, 18 January 1991.

59 Memorandum for Correspondents, No. 038–M, 18 January 1991.

60 George Schneiter, Memorandum for the Chairman of the Defense 

Acquisition Board, subj: “DAB Oversight of the SDI Program,” 6 March 

1991.

61 Donald J. Yockey, Memorandum for the Director of the Strategic 

Defense Initiative Organization, subj: “Review of the Brilliant Pebbles 

Program,” 8 March 1991.

62 O’Neill’s comment comes in a handwritten note on another 

handwritten memorandum from Dr. James Carlson. Both notes are dated 6 

March 1991.

63 Henry F. Cooper, Memorandum for the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition, subj: “Review of the Brilliant Pebbles (PB) Program,” 

22 March 1991. The format of this memorandum is somewhat puzzling. It 

has Cooper’s typed signature block and is signed by O’Neill for Cooper. 

However, on the previous page, beneath the Defense Department seal the 

initials DD (deputy director) appear as opposed to D (director). This suggests 

that the document was typed knowing that O’Neill would sign it. Although 

Cooper is listed in this note as the author, in the text above, I attribute what is 

said to O’Neill, since he actually signed the memorandum

64 Cooper, Memorandum, subj: “Review of the Brilliant Pebbles (PB) 

Program,” 22 March 1991.

65 George R. Schneiter, Memorandum for secretaries of the Military 

Departments et al., subj: “Review of the Brilliant Pebbles Program,” 26 

March 1991.

66 Ibid.

67 Don Yockey, Memorandum for secretaries of he Military Departments 

and directors of Defense Agencies, subj: “Review of Requests for Proposal 

(RFPs) and Contracts Prior to Solicitation and Award,” 11 April 1991.

68 Malcolm R. O’Neill, Memorandum for chairman of the Strategic 

Systems Committee, subj: “Brilliant Pebbles (BP) Contract Award Review,” 

29 April 1991.

69 SDIO, “Brilliant Pebbles and GPALS” and “The Brilliant Pebbles 

Program,” Fact Sheet [18 April 1991]. 
the strategic defense initiative and acquisition reform 259

70 Ibid. 

71 Ibid.; Department of Defense, Defense “SDI ‘Brilliant Pebbles’ Test 

Flight,” Colonel Rowland “Rhip” Worrell, Briefer, 18 April 1991. Worrell 

discussed the six contract teams and the down-select in May.

72 Major General Malcolm R. O’Neill, SDIO deputy director, to Senator 

Hank Brown, Letter, 24 May 1991.

73 Don Yockey, Memorandum for the director of the Strategic Defense 

Initiative Organization, subj: “Brilliant Pebbles Contract Award,” 28 May 

1991.

74 Don Yockey, Memorandum for Joint Oversight Council, subj: 

“Requirements for Brilliant Pebbles,” 29 May 1991.

75 Don Yockey, Memorandum for the director of the Strategic Defense 

Initiative Organization, subj: “Global Protection Against Limited Strikes 

(GPALS) Acquisition Decision Memorandum,” 20 September 1991.

76 Strategic Defense Initiative Organization, Draft White Paper, 18 

July 1991. Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Talty, U.S. Air Force, was the SDIO

project officer and had principal responsibility for drafting the paper within 

the missile defense agency. The response of SDIO’s leadership to the 

general acceptance of the draft White Paper by the acquisition community 

and the SSC came in comments made by Major General Malcolm O’Neill 

and Dr. Edward Gerry during an SDIO Staff Meeting on 26 July 1991, 

which the author attended in his capacity as SDIO historian. 77 Henry F. Cooper, Memorandum for under secretary of Defense for 

Acquisition, subj: “UTTMD and GPALS Review/DABs,” 9 December 

1991. [Italics in original.]

The Origins and Impact of the Defense Acquisition 

Workforce Improvement Act (DAWIA)

James H. Edgar

The Defense Acquisition Workforce Improvement Act (DAWIA) was 

enacted in November 1990 by Public Law 101–510, Chapter 87, Title 

XII. Because of its scope and intent, DAWIA was an attempt to build on 

the legislative foundation formed by the 1986 Goldwater-Nichols Act 

and the Defense Reorganization Act of 1958, acts that fundamentally 

altered the management of U.S. national security institutions. DAWIA 

was written to bring about systemic and comprehensive changes to the 

way the Department of Defense (DoD) acquisition workforce was to 

be managed. This article addresses the origins and context of DAWIA, 

how DAWIA was enacted, and some of the more salient characteristics 

of DAWIA that distinguish it from earlier legislative efforts to reform or 

reorganize the management of defense acquisition personnel. This article 

also endeavors to place DAWIA in its proper context as part of a larger 

saga of congressional and Department of Defense struggles to centralize 

the defense acquisition process.

Background

DAWIA had its origins in a long-standing congressional concern with 

the professionalism and quality of the defense acquisition workforce. 

Since the establishment of the Department of Defense in 1947, various 

studies, reports of commissions, and legislative language alluded to 

the growing perception that that the defense acquisition process had 

to be improved. A growing body of documentary evidence illustrated 

that needless cost overruns, late delivery of systems and equipment, 

performance failures, and unnecessary noncompetitive procurements 

were commonplace occurrences in the defense acquisition business. As 
262 Providing the Means of War

policymakers were becoming ever more aware of these problems, a belief 

emerged that was shared by many in Congress and the Department of 

Defense that a better-educated and -trained civilian and military workforce 

of professionals who understood the acquisition process, were committed 

to a career in acquisition, and empowered with the requisite authority to 

mitigate or prevent systemic abuses, could make a significant difference 

in the management of acquisition programs. This view acknowledged that 

good people were more important than policy, process or organization in 

getting the job done and making the defense acquisition system work.

During the 1980s, there were a number of acquisition reform 

initiatives promoted by the Congress; these efforts largely reflected the 

work of the Military Reform Caucus, an informal coalition of House 

and Senate members that cut across party and ideological lines. In 1984, 

Congress enacted Public Law 98–369, legislation that required the head 

of each executive agency to “develop and maintain a procurement career 

management program in the executive agency to assure an adequate 

professional workforce.”1

 This measure was in many ways an extension 

and clarification of President Ronald Reagan’s Executive Order 12352, 

signed in March 1982, that required each department establish career 

management programs that would promote the development of a highly 

qualified, well managed procurement workforce.2 Evidence of the growing 

movement to standardize acquisition workforce management policy 

and processes can be found in an another important DAWIA precedent, 

the Defense Procurement Reform Act of 1984, enacted on 19 October 

1984. The Defense Procurement Reform Act established a minimum 

assignment period for program managers of four years or until completion 

of a major program milestone. 3 In November 1985, Congress enacted 

the Defense Procurement Improvement Act, which required a person 

appointed as program manager of a major defense acquisition program to 

have completed the Program Management Course at the Defense Systems 

Management College (DSMC) or a “comparable course,” and have at least 

eight years of experience in acquisition support and maintenance of weapon 

systems, with at least two of those years performed while assigned to a 

procurement command. All of these legislative and executive interventions 

were important steps in the slow centralization of Department of Defense 

acquisition workforce management, but, in the eyes of some observers, 

these measures were insufficient to enhance the professional credibility of 

the workforce and combat the procedural and operational problems that 

seemed to plague the defense acquisition community. 

The widely publicized spare parts horror stories of the mid–1980s 

inspired President Reagan to establish the Blue Ribbon Commission on 
the origins and impact of the dawia 263

Defense Management by Executive Order on 15 July 1985. Better known 

as the Packard Commission because of the high-profile chairmanship of 

David Packard (cofounder of Hewlett-Packard and former deputy secretary 

of Defense under Melvin Laird, serving from January 1969 until December 

1971), the commission was made up of distinguished representatives 

of the military, industry, and the academy. Among the responsibilities 

assigned to the Packard Commission was a review of the adequacy of the 

existing defense acquisition process and an evaluation of the execution of 

acquisition responsibilities by the military services. William J. Perry headed 

the commission’s Acquisition Task Force, a sub-group established to look 

at specific acquisition issues. Other key members of the task force included 

Louis W. Cabot, Charles J. Pilliod, Jr., R. James Woolsey, and Ernest C. 

Arbuckle. 

In 1986, the Packard Commission issued its findings on acquisition 

practices, observing that the Department of Defense acquisition workforce 

was in need of “major innovations in personnel management.”4

 The 

commission emphasized the direct relationship between personnel reform 

and acquisition reform by noting, “[w]hatever other changes may be made, 

it is vitally important to enhance the quality of the defense acquisition 

workforce—both by attracting qualified new personnel and by improving 

the training and motivation of current personnel.”5

 This view was reiterated 

and expanded on in A Formula for Action, an April 1986 report prepared 

by the Packard Commission that encouraged the president and Congress 

to “amend civil service laws to permit flexible personnel management 

policies for acquisition professionals, and to expand opportunities for the 

education and training of all acquisition personnel.”6

 With the language 

included in A Formula for Action and the final Packard Commission report, 

A Quest for Excellence, it was clear that despite all of the previous efforts 

aimed at improving the quality of the acquisition workforce—including 

changes acknowledged in the February 1986 interim report by the Packard 

Commission that were “reinforced by legislation”—these gestures were 

inadequate.7

Based on the recommendations made by the Packard Commission, 

in April 1986 President Reagan promulgated National Security Decision 

Directive 219, which gave the secretary of Defense sixty days to report 

back to the president with policy changes designed to strengthen personnel 

management policies for civilian managers and employees having 

contracting, procurement, or other acquisition responsibilities. This was 

important step that demonstrated the commitment of the executive branch 

to acquisition reform, but dramatic revelations about corruption in the 

acquisition community gave more urgency to the need for sweeping changes. 
264 Providing the Means of War

In the summer of 1988, following the disclosure of the FBI defense 

procurement investigation known as Ill Wind, the House Committee 

on Armed Services initiated a series of hearings on the integrity of the 

Department of Defense’s acquisition system. These hearing, conducted 

jointly with the Subcommittee on Investigations and the Panels on 

Defense Policy and Acquisition Policy, were inspired by a growing 

sense of frustration among legislators over the defense acquisition 

process, feelings that been stirred up by the spare parts horror stories 

of the early 1980s and exacerbated by the more shocking Ill Wind 

revelations. After convening hearings in May and June of 1987 to 

review acquisition and procurement matters, it was apparent to the 

House Armed Services Committee that the Department of Defense had 

committed to implementing the Packard Commission recommendations 

in spirit, but there was little evidence that reforms were being carried 

out in practice. During the 100th Congress, the House Committee on 

Armed Services called for a review and analysis of impact of major 

commissions and panels created in preceding decades to evaluate defense 

management and acquisition. The committee observed that, in the findings 

of earlier defense reform commissions, there were four recurring points of 

discussion: concerns about the professionalism of acquisition personnel; 

the need to streamline the acquisition regulations; questions about the 

influence of the so-called revolving door between government and 

industry; and acquisition organization. All of these matters had been 

somehow addressed in earlier proposals and recommendations made by 

a variety of defense review committees and panels. In the forward to 

their study of these earlier reform panels and proposals, Congressmen 

Les Aspin (D–WI), chairman of the Defense Policy Panel, and Nicholas 

Mavroules (D–MA), chairman of the Acquisition Policy Panel, noted 

that the “bulk of the cures proposed as far back as 1948 were still being 

proposed in 1983 because they had never been implemented.”8

The Development of DAWIA

Starting in 1988, the Investigations Subcommittee commissioned 

detailed and systematic analyses of the defense acquisition workforce. The 

previous focus of past studies had been directed towards improving on 

acquisition policies and procedures and, to a lesser degree, on acquisition 

organization structure. This new analysis effort yielded three reports. The 

first, A Review of Defense Acquisition in France and Great Britain, was 

issued in 1989 and was the product of the Subcommittee on Investigations 

traveling in April 1989 to France and Great Britain to meet with senior 
the origins and impact of the dawia 265

acquisition officials in both countries. The purpose of this study was 

to understand how foreign defense acquisition systems were organized 

and staffed, and how the processes worked. Both countries have more 

centralized and independent (from the operational customer) acquisition 

organizations. In France, for instance, it was determined that the corps 

of armament engineers in the Armament Directorate constituted an elite 

body of well-educated, highly trained professionals. These engineers had 

a separate personnel system with different rules and pay scales and were 

promoted on the basis of their engineering and management skills. Their 

pay was comparable to the private sector.9

The other two reports were issued in 1990. The second report, The 

Quality and Professionalism of the Acquisition Workforce, was a detailed 

and in-depth study of the U.S. defense acquisition workforce. Using 

the analyses and recommendations of the previous presidential and 

congressional commissions as a point of departure, this study examined 

current policies and procedures within the Department of Defense for the 

selection, training, and career development of acquisition personnel. The 

focus of the study was on program managers, deputy program managers, 

and contracting officers. The report posed four major questions for review: 

(1) Were the services appointing program managers, deputy program 

managers, and contracting officers with the experience, education and 

training required by law and regulation, and were program managers of 

major programs being retained for the mandatory minimum period of 

time? (2) Was there a career program structure to develop qualified and 

professional contracting and program management personnel—both civilian 

and military? (3) Was there an appropriate mix of military and civilian 

personnel within the workforce? (4) What impediments existed that had 

to be overcome in order to develop a quality, professional acquisition 

workforce?10 To varying degrees, all three services failed to appoint 

program managers and deputy program managers who had professional 

backgrounds that reflected the appropriate combination of training and 

experience. The same could be said about the appointment of contracting 

officers. The mix of civilian and military personnel assigned to acquisition 

billets varied among the services. The Air Force had the largest number of 

uniformed military personnel working in acquisition jobs, but no service 

was in total compliance with the long-standing Department of Defense 

policy to appoint civilians to positions that did not require a military 

officer. A whole range of impediments to developing a quality professional 

acquisition workforce were found. Some were legal or administrative, such 

as pay disparities when acquisition jobs were compared to similar private 

sector positions. The lack of a college educated contracting workforce was 
266 Providing the Means of War

also identified as a serious problem. Other problems were organizational 

and cultural. While the defense acquisition chain of command—beginning 

with the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition—had responsibility for 

the acquisition system, personnel and career management fell within the 

purview of the military and civilian personnel communities. Additionally, 

the existing Department of Defense acquisition school structure was totally 

inadequate for meeting the mandatory acquisition training requirements 

established by the Department of Defense. This fact was a direct result of 

a decentralized training approach, funded wholly by the military services, 

which functioned without the benefit of a central Department of Defense 

school or oversight structure to facilitate the implementation of existing 

defense policy.11 These structural problems were compounded by the 

culture of the Department of Defense, which seemed to embrace the 

idea that issuance of a directive or regulation was the same as effective 

implementation, which was not the case.

The third report, Life is Too Short: A Review of the Brief Periods 

Managers of Major Defense Acquisition Programs Stay on the Job, found 

that, for all practical purposes, the services had simply disregarded the 

requirements of the Defense Procurement Reform Act of 1984, which 

required program managers to serve a minimum of four years or until 

completion of a major milestone. In only 11 percent of all of the program 

management cases reviewed were the services even in technical compliance 

with the 1984 Reform Act. Ironically, the average tenure of program 

managers had actually decreased after the tenure law was passed. The 

Investigations Subcommittee found this a “most egregious example of the 

flouting of statutory requirements.”12 There were three root causes for the 

rapid turnover of program managers: (1) program managers were almost 

exclusively military; (2) because so many of the military personnel were 

“comers,” the military personnel assignment system viewed these jobs as 

mere “ticket-punching”; and (3) the program manager position was tied to 

a particular rank, so when the incumbent was promoted he or she had to 

move. All of the data showed an “appalling absence of compliance with 

the law. It is simply an abysmal record.”13 Congress did not want to see a 

continuation of business as usual. 

 In early March 1990, the Investigations Subcommittee issued a draft 

“Proposal for the Creation of a Highly Professional Acquisition Workforce 

and Acquisition Corps Within Each of the Military Services.” This paper 

was the basic outline of what eventually became DAWIA. The proposal 

vested a new career management program authority in the office of the 

under secretary of Defense (Acquisition). The career management program 

covered accession, education, training, experience, assignment, promotion 
the origins and impact of the dawia 267

and retention for each major functional element within the acquisition 

workforce and sought to ensure that Service Acquisition Executives 

established career management systems within their components. 

The proposal included a number of important management and 

reporting requirements designed to prevent the continuation of “business 

as usual.” It called for the establishment of an Acquisition Corps that would 

have its own selection, assignment, and promotion systems not unlike the 

Judge Advocate General’s Corps for military officers. It also established 

a positive baccalaureate degree requirement for entry into the contracting 

career field. The proposal also included many attractive incentives for 

accessing new entrants into acquisition; set forth a basic management 

structure (later incorporated into DAWIA); mandated a management 

reporting system for compliance; and called for the establishment of a 

Defense Acquisition University. 

Standards were an important part of the draft proposal. It introduced 

new minimum standards for contracting officers (both military and civilian) 

and standards for entry into the Acquisition Corps. It also established new 

standards for program managers of major programs, program managers of 

non-major programs, program executive officers (PEOs), senior contracting 

officials, and senior officials (general/flag officers and civilian equivalents) 

in Procurement Commands. These standards were subsequently modified 

and are discussed in detail below. 

Finally, the draft report called for a change in the policy concerning 

the civilian-military mix to ensure that more civilians could qualify for 

senior acquisition positions within the Department of Defense. This 

document was distributed to the Office of the Secretary of Defense and the 

military departments for comment as well as approximately one hundred 

individuals, including former secretaries of Defense, chairmen of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, senior acquisition officials from prior administrations, 

representatives of industry, and academicians.14

With such wide distribution, it was inevitable that the proposal would 

generate controversy and necessitate lengthy follow-up discussions to 

clarify the scope and intent of the reform effort. Two hearings were held 

in March and April 1990 in which testimony was received from senior 

Department of Defense officials and representatives of the private sector 

and the academy.15 During the course of these hearings, there were a 

series of meetings and consultations taking place on two levels. On one 

level, senior officials of the Air Force, Army, and Navy were meeting 

with the professional staff members of the Investigations Subcommittee 

to explain and argue why DAWIA was unnecessary. The bottom line 

of their presentations was that the services were already addressing the 
268 Providing the Means of War

public policy issues that DAWIA intended to address through the Defense 

Management Report. However, upon a closer examination, each of the 

services— arguing that they had a career management program already in 

place with a nascent Acquisition Corps prototype—had focused exclusively 

on program managers. For example, Mr. Paul Beach, special assistant to the 

secretary of the Navy, said that no one in contracting would be included in 

their program. The Air Force and Army programs concentrated on program 

management, and, to a very large degree, military officers only. The 

professional staff members came away convinced that DAWIA was needed 

more than ever. 

Simultaneously, the professional staff members were meeting with 

senior officials in contracting in the Air Force and Army to receive 

their input; among these professionals they found enthusiastic support 

for DAWIA. They also met with program managers from the services. 

For example, in a meeting with the B–1 program manager, he said 

that a civilian could just as easily be the program manager for the B–1 

program as a military officer. The only impediment was cultural. The 

warfighters liked to see uniformed individuals serve as their program 

managers. Feedback from industry officials was supportive of the DAWIA 

provisions as well. 

Congressman Mavroules introduced DAWIA on 28 June 1990 as a 

stand-alone bill, H.R. 5211. Mavroules reviewed the background leading up 

to the proposed legislation.

Actually, there should be little debate about the broad guidelines of what needs to 

be done. Since World War II, no less than six commissions have grappled with 

the problems of military acquisition and offered prescriptions to fix them. These 

commissions—including the two Hoover Commissions of 1949 and 1955, the 

Fitzhugh Commission of 1970, the Commission on Government Procurement In 

1972, the Grace Commission of 1983, and the Packard Commission of 1986—

have all recognized the need for competent, trained, and educated civilian and 

military acquisition personnel. Their recommendations have been echoed by many 

outside experts for more than four decades. The problem has been in implementing these recommendations. There has been plenty of talk and lots of paper, but 

there has not been a lot of action....My intention here is to ensure that the sound, 

commonsense recommendations made by all those numerous Commissions are, 

in fact, implemented. And I believe that legislation is needed to ensure that the 

changes we propose are institutionalized since you and I—and our friends at the 

Pentagon—might not be here tomorrow.16

He then proceeded to outline the legislative proposal, emphasizing 

the bill’s features, which encompassed career management, experience, 

education and training, the Acquisition Corps concept, contracting 

professionalism, the civilian-military mix, greater job tenure, and mobility. 
the origins and impact of the dawia 269

Mavroules concluded by acknowledging that this was a proposal of 

“historic proportions that should result in a cultural change in the way 

the Department of Defense approaches acquisition. No longer would 

acquisition assignments be made as rewards for performance in unrelated 

fields, or for officers who want to civilianize their resumes. No longer 

would key acquisition assignments, such as program managers, be given 

to amateurs or dilettantes. Only qualified professionals would be allowed 

to hold key acquisition jobs. They would be appointed by the individuals 

responsible for acquisition in the Department of Defense and their 

performance would be evaluated by these same people. . . . What we have 

proposed should not be startling or esoteric; it is really based on common 

sense and sound management principles.”17

The introduction of the legislation was followed by press releases to 

gain additional support for DAWIA as the military services awakened to 

what was about to befall them. Mavroules noted that in 1984, program 

managers averaged twenty-five months on the job and today, “they average 

only twenty-one months. Some improvement!” Representative Larry 

Hopkins, ranking Republican on the Investigations Subcommittee said: 

“The services are simply ignoring the law. . . . With only twenty-one 

months on the job, they barely have time to find where the executive 

washroom is.” A Pentagon spokeswoman replied, “We know the law is on 

the books. We’re trying hard to work on the spirit of the law.”18 One of the 

key selling points was the blatant failure of the services to comply with 

1984 tenure law for program managers. Citing the Life is Too Short report, 

the New York Times noted that “one reason for the high turnover is the 

military’s historical tendency to treat all officers as potential admirals and 

generals and to expose them to a broad array of duties.”19

During this period, there were challenges to the proposed legislation 

and additional input was received from a number of sources. Some 

observers had legitimate concerns, such as the issue of “grandfathering” 

current employees, especially in the contracting occupational series, to 

hold them harmless from the new, higher educational standards. Certain 

professional staff members met with contracting civilian employees 

at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base to hear their complaints about the 

unfairness of the proposed legislation. Waivers proved to be another point 

of contention between Congress and those potentially effected by the new 

legislation. The professional staff members worked long and hard to address 

these concerns and to ensure that DAWIA was comprehensive and would 

promote the cultural change required.20

The wrangling over the details of H.R. 5211 prompted some very 

high-level interventions. On 7 August 1990, the under secretary of Defense 
270 Providing the Means of War

(Acquisition), John Betti, wrote to Congressman Nicholas Mavroules 

noting that several provisions included in DAWIA would cause the 

department significant difficulty. It was also during this period that DAWIA 

encountered its gravest challenge, and it came from the Office of Personnel 

Management (OPM), which was historically and unalterably opposed to 

establishing a positive education requirement for the GS–1102 (contracting) 

workforce. OPM requested a separate hearing from the Post Office and 

Civil Service Committee to voice its objections to DAWIA. However, after 

discussions between Congressman Mavroules and Representative Gerry 

Sikorski (D–MN) and the intercession of Representative Pat Schroeder 

(D–CO), who sat on both committees, as well as Representative Benjamin 

Gilman (D–NY), it was decided that a hearing for OPM was unnecessary. 

On 11 September 1990, Congressman Mavroules introduced 

DAWIA as a part of the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 

1991.21 Noting that Congress enacted major procurement reform legislation 

every year from 1982 through 1986, Mavroules, said it was time for a new 

approach that would “address not the symptoms but the root causes” of the 

failures of the defense acquisition system.22 “While previous efforts were 

all well-meaning and rational, they failed to take into account the most vital 

and critical area: the quality and capabilities of the people who must work 

within the structure. My amendment provides a comprehensive framework 

for developing an acquisition workforce with the skills and attributes 

required for effectively managing the defense acquisition process.”23

DAWIA encompassed three themes: quality, professionalism, and 

empowerment. There was general bipartisan support of DAWIA during 

the debate, and it was regarded as a “good government” bill. In support 

of DAWIA, Representative Dennis Hertel (D–MI) said: “I stand here to 

say President Hoover was right, President Eisenhower was right. The only 

way to improve DoD acquisition is to improve the skills of the people 

making acquisition decisions, and then retain those very good people.”24

Representative Bill Dickinson (R–AL), the ranking minority member of 

the Armed Services Committee had received input from the Department 

of Defense opposing DAWIA. In his remarks, he brought these concerns 

to the floor: extensive and detailed reporting requirements, the size of the 

acquisition corps, and finally the tone and detail of the many of the directive 

provisions that appear to bind the flexibility of the department to manage 

effectively the acquisition workforce. Nonetheless, Congressman Dickinson 

had no objections and intended to vote in favor of DAWIA. This legislation 

also had the full backing of Representative Les Aspin (D–WI), chairman 

of the Armed Services Committee. On a roll-call vote, the House passed 

DAWIA overwhelmingly, 413–1.
the origins and impact of the dawia 271

Following passage in the House of Representatives, officials opposing 

DAWIA turned to the Senate to either defeat or ameliorate the provisions 

that were most objectionable. During the Senate-House conference on 

DAWIA, the Senate side wanted to give more management flexibility to 

the secretary of Defense and the secretaries of the military departments 

and retain a greater role for the personnel community (military and 

civilian) by calling for close coordination between the under secretary of 

Defense (Acquisition) and the assistant secretary of Defense for Force 

Management and Personnel in the development and implementation of 

acquisition personnel policies. Within each of the military departments, 

the service acquisition executive (SAE) should coordinate closely with the 

Department’s assistant secretary for Manpower and Reserve Affairs and the 

senior military personnel officer within the department in the development 

and implementation of acquisition personnel policies. 

As a result, the secretary of Defense was authorized, after 1 October 

1993, to transfer the responsibilities assigned to the under secretary of 

Defense for Acquisition to a different senior official. “This provision 

is intended to provide future secretaries of Defense with discretion to 

reorganize the Office of the Secretary based on changing circumstances 

or needs. The conferees emphasize, however, that any such transfer must 

be to a single official, and that this authority may not be used to divide the 

responsibilities among more than one official.”25

Significantly, in terms of tenure requirements for assignments to 

critical acquisition positions or as program managers and deputy program 

managers, there would be a limited waiver authority which could be 

exercised only in exceptional circumstances: “It is the conferees intent that 

this waiver authority be exercised only in limited circumstances involving 

matters such as relief for cause or poor performance, extreme personal 

hardship, or a higher critical requirement in the department. The conferees 

intend that the justification for use of such waiver authority is carefully 

documented and not simply declared. Routine personnel practices such as 

promotions or routine service assignment policies should not be used as 

the basis for a waiver.”26 The conferees expected the secretary of Defense 

to establish a charter and an organizational structure for the defense 

acquisition university. Finally, the conference agreement would phase in the 

new requirements wherever possible to ease the transition from the present 

acquisition workforce structure. At the end of the conference, the basic 

provisions of the House version of DAWIA were largely intact, with only 

the few modifications discussed above. On 5 November 1990, President 

George H.W. Bush signed the National Defense Authorization Act for 

Fiscal Year 1991, including DAWIA, into law.
272 Providing the Means of War

Salient Provisions of DAWIA

DAWIA is characterized by a very comprehensive and detailed set of 

interlocking components that are intended to ensure the cultural change in 

the performance of the Defense acquisition system intended by Congress. 

There are, interestingly, certain key provisions that stand out: management, 

civilian-military mix, standards, education and training, and accountability. 

Management

The secretary of Defense, through the acquisition chain of command, 

will establish policies and procedures for the effective career management 

of the acquisition workforce and implementation shall be uniform across 

the Department of Defense to the maximum extent practicable. Previous 

efforts at implementation had been fragmented and had mixed results as 

was demonstrated by the various studies that were used as the basis for 

DAWIA. It was also clear that the responsibility for acquisition and the 

authority to supervise the acquisition workforce should not be bifurcated. 

Thus the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition, assisted by the 

respective service acquisition executives, subject to the authority, direction 

and control of the secretary of the military department concerned, would 

ensure implementation within that department by carrying out all powers, 

functions and duties of the secretary concerning the acquisition workforce. 

 The framers knew that authority and responsibility had to be conjoined; 

but they also knew that this alone was insufficient. There must be a capacity

for effective action. Therefore, the legislation created the position of 

director, Acquisition Career Management (DACM). This is a key position 

in the scheme of things. The intention was that this would be a full-time 

job at a sufficiently high level—major general or rear admiral or civilian 

employee in a position in the civil service the rate of pay for which is equal 

to Level V of the Executive Schedule. The DACM would assist the SAE

in implementing DAWIA. This was an explicit rejection of the traditional 

approach of assigning these responsibilities as an “additional duty”. The 

DACM is responsible for the administrative “heavy lifting” to ensure 

effective execution of DAWIA. The DACM was authorized to waive tenure 

requirements under DAWIA. DAWIA also mandated the establishment of 

Acquisition Career Program Boards within each military department to 

advise the cognizant SAE in managing the accession, training, education 

and career development of military and civilian personnel. Composition 

of the board would consist of the DACM (or representative), the assistant 

secretary responsible for manpower (or representative) and the military 
the origins and impact of the dawia 273

and civilian officials responsible for personnel development in the various 

acquisition career fields, such as contracting. The idea here was to get 

the best advice and input from the functional leadership responsible for 

carrying out acquisition missions. The acquisition career program boards 

were authorized to waive educational requirements for contracting 

personnel and for Acquisition Corps membership.

Civilian-Military Mix 

One of the most contentious issues in DAWIA was the proper 

utilization of civilians within acquisition and the civilian-military mix. One 

of the findings of the studies supporting DAWIA was that the Department 

of Defense had failed to implement its own policies concerning the use of 

civilians in positions that did not require military officers. Coupled with 

this was the perception that many military officers lacked the necessary 

experience; this was tied to the traditional use of civilians as deputies to 

provide continuity while officers often got on-the-job training. At the same 

time, there was also a perception that civilians tended to “homestead” and 

lacked the breadth of experience needed for more senior positions. Thus, 

one of the objectives of DAWIA was to make officers more like civilians 

and civilians more like military officers through specific programmatic 

actions.

There was a specific prohibition against a requirement or preference 

for military personnel in filling acquisition positions unless a member 

of the armed forces is required for that position by law, is essential for 

performance of the duties of that position, or is necessary for another 

compelling reason and an annual report of such positions is required. 

The secretary of Defense is required to ensure that civilian personnel are 

provided the education, training and experience to qualify for the most 

senior acquisition positions and that the selection for positions is based on 

the “best qualified,” not whether the individual is military or civilian. The 

secretary of Defense was also enjoined to ensure the acquisition workforce 

was managed from 1 October 1991 through 30 September 1996 so that 

there was a substantial increase in the proportion of civilians as compared 

to military serving in critical acquisition positions, as program managers, 

and as division heads as compared to the proportion as of 1 October 1990. 

The secretary of Defense is required to establish a policy on assigning 

military personnel to acquisition positions that provide a balance between 

the need for personnel to serve in career broadening positions and the need 

to serve a sufficient time to provide the stability necessary to effectively 

carry out the duties of the position. The secretary of Defense is required 
274 Providing the Means of War

to establish a procedure under which the assignment of each person to a 

critical acquisition position is reviewed on a case-by-case basis after five 

years by the cognizant acquisition career program board to determine 

whether the government and the individual would be better served by a 

reassignment to a different position. The secretary of Defense is to establish 

a rotation policy encouraging the rotation of Acquisition Corps members 

to new assignments after completion of five years of service in critical 

acquisition position. This policy was designed to “ensure opportunities for 

career broadening assignments and an infusion of new ideas into critical 

acquisition positions.”27 The secretary of Defense was required to establish 

a centralized job referral system to ensure that persons selected for critical 

acquisition positions are considered without regard to geographic location of 

the applicants. Lastly, the secretary of Defense was to establish an exchange 

program to broaden the experience of members of each Acquisition Corps. 

This was to be a test program in which corps members of one department 

would be assigned or detailed to another Department or Defense agency.

Standards 

Significantly, DAWIA set forth new educational, training and 

experience standards for the contracting (GS–1102) workforce, contracting 

officers, members of the Acquisition Corps and individuals assigned as 

program managers of major defense programs, deputy program managers of 

major defense programs, programs managers and deputy program managers 

on non-major defense programs, program executive officers, general and 

flag officers and civilian equivalents in critical acquisition positions, and 

senior contracting officials. Membership in the Acquisition Corps requires 

a baccalaureate degree (or certification by the appropriate acquisition 

career program board that the person has demonstrated potential for 

advancement) plus twenty-four semester credit hours in “business acumen” 

(accounting, business finance, law, contracts, purchasing, economics, 

industrial management, marketing, quantitative methods, and organization 

and management) from an accredited institution of higher education 

or twenty-four semester credit hours in the person’s career field (if not 

contracting or business and finance) plus twelve semester credit hours in 

the “business acumen” disciplines. In addition, four years of acquisition 

experience (in an acquisition position) was required.

Contracting personnel (GS–1102) now had a positive education 

requirement: a baccalaureate degree or twenty-four semester credit hours 

in the “business acumen” disciplines. Contracting officers had to meet 

the same educational standards as the GS–1102 plus have completed all 
the origins and impact of the dawia 275

mandatory contracting training at their grade level and have at least two 

years of contracting experience. Program managers of major programs 

must meet the Acquisition Corps requirements, have at least eight years of 

acquisition experience—two years of which were performed in a systems 

program office, and have completed the Program Management Course at 

the Defense Systems Management College.28 All of these new requirements 

were subject to “grandfathering” provisions or some form of waiver. 

Education and Training 

In addition to the requirement to establish a Defense Acquisition 

University structure, DAWIA established the requirement to use a number 

of recruiting tools to ensure the infusion of a quality civilian workforce: 

this included the establishment of an intern program within each military 

department to provide highly qualified and talented individuals an 

opportunity for accelerated promotion, career broadening assignments, and 

specified training to prepare them for entry into the Acquisition Corps; the 

establishment of a cooperative education program; the establishment of a 

scholarship program; a tuition reimbursement and training program; and 

provisions for the repayment of student loans.

Accountability 

Congress was clearly intent on establishing clear lines of accountability 

for implementation of DAWIA by squarely placing responsibility within 

the acquisition chain of command. Accountability took two other forms. 

First, DAWIA established a minimum three-year assignment period for 

Acquisition Corps personnel who were assigned to critical acquisition 

positions. In addition, the tenure requirements for program managers and 

deputy program managers was set at completion of the first major milestone 

that occurs closest in time to the date on which the person has served for four 

years. The concept behind this requirement was to hold acquisition managers 

accountable for their actions by avoiding “ticket punching” and careerism. 

The second area of accountability was in the requirement to establish 

within the Department of Defense a management information system and 

to report annually to Congress on the implementation of critical elements 

of DAWIA. There were thirteen categories of data that were to be reported, 

including critical acquisition positions, waivers, and promotion rates for 

officers. The concept behind this series of reporting requirements was 

to help ensure that the Department of Defense was able to manage and 

implement DAWIA; thus, the requirements for reporting were intended 
276 Providing the Means of War

more as a tool to help the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition and the 

service acquisition executives than it was for Congress.

Conclusion

DAWIA was significant legislation that was written to bring about a 

lasting cultural change in the defense acquisition system by introducing 

workforce standards backed by legislation and regulation. Reporting 

requirements increased the visibility of the acquisition workforce within 

each of the military services, and provided valuable data to the Office 

of the Secretary of Defense, information that could be used to guide 

the development of acquisition-related policies. A complete analysis of 

DAWIA’s implementation across the Department of Defense is beyond 

the scope of this paper and has yet to be written. From an acquisition 

management standpoint, DAWIA is still very much a work in progress. 

It is worth noting that the General Accounting Office is required to 

report annually on DAWIA implementation, but there has never been a 

Congressional oversight hearing on DAWIA. Thus, the management and 

oversight of DAWIA implementation has remained the responsibility of 

the Office of the Secretary of Defense and, to a lesser degree, the military 

services. As might be expected, each component has implemented DAWIA 

differently. The civilian-military mix and the selection of “best qualified” 

has been an issue for all the components. Nonetheless, the Department of 

Defense acquisition system has benefited from DAWIA.
the origins and impact of the dawia 277

Notes

1

 House of Representatives, Committee on Armed Services, The Quality 

and Professionalism of the Acquisition Workforce, 101st Cong., 2d sess., 

Committee Print No. 10 (8 May 1990), 63 2 Executive Order 12352 directed the “heads of executive agencies 

engaged in the procurement of products and services” to “[e]stablish career 

management programs, covering the full range of personnel management 

functions, that will result in a highly qualified, well managed professional 

procurement work force; and Designate a Procurement Executive with 

agency-wide responsibility to . . . enhance career management of the 

procurement work force;” EO 12352 is also significant because it called 

upon the Director of the Office of Personnel Management, working closely 

with the heads of various executive agencies, to “ensure that personnel 

policies and classification standards meet the needs of executive agencies 

for a professional procurement work force.” EO 12352 was subsequently 

revoked on 13 October 1994 by EO 12931; see 59 FR 52387.

3

 PL 98–525, Sec. 1243. 4

 See President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, 

An Interim Report to the President (28 February 1986), 14. 5

 See President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, A 

Quest for Excellence, Final Report to the President (June 1986), 66.

6

 See President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, 

A Formula for Action, A Report to the President on Defense Acquisition 

(April 1986), 32. 7 An Interim Report, 14

8

 House of Representatives, Committee on Armed Services, Defense 

Acquisition Major U.S. Commission Reports (1949–1988), Vol. I, 100th 

Cong., 2d sess., Committee Print No. 26 (1988), V. 

9

 House of Representatives, Committee on Armed Services, A Review of 

Defense Acquisition in France and Great Britain (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 

1989).

10 See House of Representatives, The Quality and Professionalism of 

the Acquisition Workforce: Report of the Investigations Subcommittee of the 

Committee on Armed Services, 101st Cong., 2d sess. (1990). 11 In August 1985 Deputy Secretary of Defense Taft had issued a policy 

memo requiring that all Defense components would ensure that 85 percent 

of their acquisition workforce would be trained in mandatory courses 

annually. Subsequently a small Acquisition Enhancement Program Office 

(ACE) was established at the Defense Systems Management College in 

May 1987 to oversee and manage implementation. But it was hampered in 
278 Providing the Means of War

its work by a lack of centralized funding and control. See DoD Directive 

5160.55, 22 August 1988. 12 House of Representatives, Committee on Armed Services, Life Is 

Too Short: A Review of the Brief Periods Managers of Major Defense 

Acquisition Programs Stay on the Job, 101st Cong., 2d sess., Committee 

Print No. 12 (4 July 1990), 6.

13 Ibid., 10

14 See House Committee on Armed Services, Investigations 

Subcommittee, “Proposal for the Creation of a Highly Professional 

Acquisition Workforce and Acquisition Corps Within Each of the Military 

Services” (draft), 8 March 1990.

15 In the first, on 28 March 1990, the Investigations Subcommittee 

heard testimony from Mr. Math of the General Accounting Office and 

Mr. Everett Pyatt, former senior acquisition official within the Office of 

the Secretary of the Navy. Both endorsed the concepts proposed in the 

draft legislation. This was followed by testimony from the Honorable 

John A. Betti, under secretary of Defense (Acquisition), the service 

acquisition executives, Major General Charles Henry, deputy director 

(Acquisition Management) Defense Logistics Agency, and Major General 

Lynn Stevens, commandant, Defense Systems Management College. In 

general, the official position of the witnesses was that this legislation was 

unnecessary as the issues that had been identified were being addressed 

through the secretary of Defense’s Defense Management Review. The 

second hearing was held on 24 April 1990 and consisted of a panel chaired 

by Mr. David Packard. Mr. Packard was accompanied by Mr. Norman 

Augustine, chairman and CEO of Martin-Marietta, Dr. Ron Fox of the 

Harvard Business School, and the two former under secretaries of Defense 

(Acquisition): Mr. Godwin and Mr. Costello.

16 Congressional Record, Vol. 136, No. 85, Part II (28 June 1990), E

2207.

17 Ibid., E 2210.

18 “Military Revolving Door Quickens,” Washington Post, 3 July 1990.

19 “Quick Transfers in Arms Programs Criticized,” New York Times, 

2 July 1990. Also see for additional press coverage: “Degree Would Be 

Needed for Select ‘Acquisition Corps,’” Federal Times, 16 July 1990: 4; 

“Mavroules To Seek Professional Military ‘Acquisition Corps,’” Defense 

Daily, 27 June 1990: 502; and Insight, “Rx for Ailing Procurement 

System,” 30 July 1990.

20 Professional staff members were Colleen Preston, Warren Nelson, 

Arch Barrett, Cathy Garmen, and Robert Rangel. They also included James 

Edgar, an American Political Science Association congressional fellow 
the origins and impact of the dawia 279

from the Department of the Air Force, and Julia Denman from the General 

Accounting Office. 21 Congressional Record, 10 September 1990, H 7271. 22 Congressional Record, 11 September 1990, H 7377.

23 Ibid. 24 Ibid., H 7386.

25 Ibid.

26 Congressional Record, 23 October 1990, H 12208.

27 10 U.S.C., Chapter 87, Sec. 1734(e).

28 All of the following would be critical acquisition positions and the 

Acquisition Corps membership would apply. Program managers of nonmajor defense programs must have completed the Program Management 

Course and have six years of acquisition experience. Deputy program 

managers of major defense programs must have completed the Program 

Management Course and have six years of acquisition experience, two 

years of which were performed in a systems program office. Deputy 

program managers of non-major programs must have completed the 

Program Management Course and have at least four years of acquisition 

experience. Program executive officers (PEOs) must have completed the 

Program Management Course, have ten years of acquisition experience, 

at least four years of which were performed while assigned to a critical 

acquisition position, and have served as either a program manager or 

deputy program manager. General and flag officers and civilian equivalents 

must have ten years of acquisition experience, four years of which were 

performed in a critical acquisition position. Senior contracting officials 

must have four years of contracting experience.

Part V

Post-Cold War Acquisition

Defense Acquisition in an Uncertain World:

The Post-Cold War Era, 1990–2000

Philip L. Shiman

Introduction

The period from roughly 1989 to 2003 was one of both evolution and 

revolution. Key changes occurred in the strategic realm, as the Cold War 

ended and the Persian Gulf War ushered in a new era of global activity 

in a chaotic and unpredictable world. Ten years later, the 11 September 

terrorist attacks on New York and Washington, and the subsequent wars 

in Afghanistan and Iraq, again altered the strategic picture. Meanwhile, 

accelerating technological change, especially in information technology, 

were transforming the lives and activities of civilians, warfighters, and 

acquisition specialists alike, and they gave rise to visions of a revolution 

in warfare as profound as the day when armies first took up muskets and 

cannons. Changes were slower to come in acquisition practice. The age-old 

quest for acquisition reform—a quest that has continued as long as there 

has been acquisition—entered a new phase, with a determined effort to 

overhaul acquisition at a fundamental level. The reform efforts of the 1990s 

led to a dramatic overhaul of all aspects of the acquisition process in the 

early 2000s, with the adoption of new regulations and procedures for the 

acquisition system, requirements-generation process, and the planning and 

budgeting system.

The Defense Management Review, 1989–1991

As the decade of the eighties waned, the pressure for reform of the 

defense acquisition grew. The Cold War was winding down and the Reagan 

military buildup was over. The massive defense spending of the first half 
284 Providing the Means of War

of the decade—much of which was devoted to acquisition programs—

had given way to retrenchment as the fear of economic weakness and 

massive budget deficits came to overshadow the military threat from a 

visibly weakening Soviet Union. The country was weary from the various 

scandals that had come to taint the acquisition program, from the apparent 

price-gouging of the early eighties to the widespread corruption exposed 

by Operation Ill Wind in 1988. Public confidence in defense acquisition 

dropped as the outcry against waste, fraud and abuse grew louder. 

Relations between the government and the defense industry grew frayed 

as the Depatment of Defense (DoD) blamed the scandals on its contractors. 

Congress, irritated by what it considered the Reagan administration’s footdragging on the issue of reform, increasingly involved itself in DoD affairs, 

demanding information, scrutinizing every budget request and passing ever 

more stringent regulations. 

By 1986, public pressure forced the administration to establish the 

President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, better 

known as the Packard Commission after its chairman, David Packard. 

The commission recommended some sweeping reforms, which would 

be the blueprint for reform efforts for the next fifteen years. Some of the 

proposals were quickly adopted; in 1987, Congress acted on the call for 

an “acquisition czar” for the Pentagon by creating the position of under 

secretary of Defense for Acquisition (USD[A]). But other recommendations 

languished for at least two years, such as a more streamlined acquisition 

organization and improved professional standards for both uniformed 

and civilian acquisition officials. By 1989, Congress began to entertain 

ideas for reforms far more radical than those put forward by the Packard 

Commission, such as the consolidation of all DoD acquisition into a central 

agency run by civilians.

President George H. W. Bush was mindful of both the anger of 

Congress and of the complaints from industry about overregulation. Within 

days of his inauguration, in his first address to Congress, he announced that 

he was directing the secretary of Defense to develop “a plan to improve 

the defense procurement process and management of the Pentagon, one 

which will fully implement the Packard Commission report.” He noted 

that many of the required changes would require congressional action, 

“and so, I ask for your help. We need less bureaucracy. We need multiyear 

procurement and two-year budgeting. And . . . we need less congressional 

micromanagement of our nation’s military policy.”1

The review was carried out under Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney, 

who presented the Defense Management Report, or DMR, in July 1989. 

As the name suggested, the thrust of the paper was a set of organizational 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 285

changes intended to improve the management of the Defense Department. 

At the top, the DMR sought to provide the Office of the Secretary of 

Defense (OSD) with tighter control over the planning and decision-making 

process. For example, the deputy secretary of Defense was to chair the 

Defense Planning and Resources Board (DPRB) that replaced the old 

Defense Resources Board (DRB), “to develop stronger links between 

our national policies and the resources allocated to specific programs and 

forces.” The Defense Acquisition Board (DAB) was reduced in size and, 

under the leadership of the USD(A), was to “rigorously oversee major 

systems acquisition” to ensure that the process met DoD policy. The under 

secretary’s task, the plan noted, was “to discipline the acquisition system 

through review of major programs by the DAB.” The Joint Requirements 

Oversight Council (JROC) was also given broader role in articulating 

military needs and validating performance goals. Managerial streamlining 

would be achieved by reducing redundancy and centralizing services. 

For example, financial accounting, then spread among a range of contract

administrative services offices and the Defense Logistics Agency (DLA), 

was to be consolidated in the Defense Contract Management Agency 

(DCMA).2

Yet the DMR also noted that the Packard Commission had called for 

more profound changes in the acquisition process. The report admitted that 

“efforts to date have not produced the tangible results envisioned by the 

commission.” It, therefore, laid out the means for promoting clear command 

channels within the services for program officials, program stability, and 

limited reporting requirements according to the concept of “management 

by exception.” The DMR paid particular attention to the problems of the 

acquisition workforce identified by the Packard Commission, including 

poor training, poor pay, and lack of appropriate experience. It called 

for the professionalization of the civilian workforce through improved 

education and attractive, better-defined career paths, modeled in part on 

a highly successful experiment performed at the Navy facility at China 

Lake. Military acquisition personnel were also to be provided with better 

training and more stable careers, made more attractive with assurances of 

promotion.

To improve systems development, the DMR specified new procedures 

for reviewing the development of major systems, including the milestonereview process by the DAB. In procurement policy, the DMR endorsed the 

Packard Commission’s emphasis on increasing reliance on commercially 

available products and adopting competitive practices that focused less 

on the bottom line than on a mix of cost, past performance, and other 

considerations in order to achieve the “best value” for the government. 
286 Providing the Means of War

Addressing the contracting scandals of the previous administration, the 

DMR warned that “DoD will not tolerate illegal or unethical behavior on 

the part of anyone in the acquisition systems.” It ordered the formation of a 

DoD Ethics Council, but otherwise called for industry to police itself better. 

The DMR acknowledged that there was much that OSD and the 

services needed to do to implement the plan. However, echoing Bush’s 

February speech, the DMR emphasized that congressional support would 

be necessary, both to pass the requisite enabling legislation and to reduce 

the regulator burden on DoD and the contractors. It cited a recent report 

by the Office of Technology Assessment (OTA), which had declared 

that “while Congress did not intend the [acquisition] system to be slow, 

cumbersome, and inefficient, laws passed to foster goals other than efficient 

procurement have made it so.”3

 Furthermore, congressional oversight had 

become micromanagement, the DMR suggested: Every day saw three 

new General Accounting Office (GAO) audits of DoD, 450 written and 

2,500 telephone inquiries from Capitol Hill, and three separate reports to 

Congress averaging 1,000 man-hours and $50,000 in expenses.

The DMR was sometimes accused of being a “top-down” document.4

Yet its attempts to achieve fundamental reforms were ambitious, though 

it may be questioned whether they had a significant impact below the 

OSD level. In any event, the DMR became the guiding document for the 

remainder of Cheney’s administration of DoD, and a determined effort 

seems to have been made to implement its provisions. For example, DoD 

pushed forward its review of the myriad regulations and instructions 

governing the acquisition process. By 1992, DoD had “examined more than 

five hundred acquisition directives and instructions and identified almost 

four hundred for cancellation, consolidation, or revision.” More than half 

of those 400 were cancelled. The 5000 series acquisition documents were 

overhauled, with fifty separate directives and fifteen policy memoranda 

being eliminated or reduced into a single directive (5000.1), instruction 

(5000.2), and manual (5000.2–M). The Defense Federal Acquisition 

Regulation Supplement (DFARS) was likewise overhauled and rewritten, 

its length being cut in half. The new DFARS took effect on 31 December 

1991.5

These revisions appeared to represent a far-reaching attempt to 

streamline the acquisition process, but they did not necessarily simplify it. 

The three new 5000 series documents totaled 900 pages long—no previous 

versions had ever exceeded sixty pages. In place of congressionally 

mandated regulation, they imposed OSD-mandated regulation. They now 

covered all acquisition programs, not just the major systems, though they 

divided the programs broadly into four acquisition categories (ACATS), 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 287

with ACAT I being major systems. On the whole, the new 5000 series 

documents centralized control within OSD and sought to impose discipline 

by replacing the informal, personal-based communication with formal, 

written reporting.6

Congress responded to the administration’s plea for legislative support. 

Responding to a DMR white paper that reviewed Congressional oversight, 

Congress eliminated 30 percent of the recurring reporting requirements.7

Another significant congressional action was the creation of the Acquisition 

Law Advisory Panel. Established in Section 800 of the National Defense 

Authorization Act of 1991, the committee, more commonly known as the 

“Section 800 Panel,” consisted of experts from academe, industry, and 

the government who were charged with recommending changes in the 

acquisition laws in order to streamline the defense acquisition process. The 

panel would report in January 1993.8

To promote the professionalization of acquisition personnel, Congress 

passed a key piece of legislation called the Defense Acquisition Workforce 

Improvement Act (DAWIA). The Packard Commission and the Defense 

Management Report had emphasized the importance of improving the 

workforce, and the legislators’ own studies led to the same conclusion. 

DAWIA, a part of the National Defense Authorization Act of 1991, directed 

DoD to provide for the career management of the acquisition workforce. 

Each service was to establish a special Acquisition Corps with its own 

selection, assignment, and promotion policies, and to establish clear and 

effective policies for balancing the use of civilians and military officers in 

acquisition capacities. To ensure this was done, the act established a fulltime Director, Acquisition Career Management (DACM). It set standards 

for qualifications of acquisition officials, and established the Defense 

Acquisition University with specifications as to how the workers were to be 

trained.9

DAWIA was probably the most important law to come out of this 

period, because acquisition reform depended heavily on the cooperation 

and even the initiative of the workforce itself. In the past, the Office of 

the Secretary of Defense, Congress, or some outside commission had 

imposed reform upon the acquisition bureaucracy, which was large and 

fragmented into various agencies and services that had their own traditions, 

policies, and administrative imperatives. Yet as the reformers of the 1980s 

had recognized, it was not enough simply to rework the organization and 

procedures of the acquisition agencies; the broader culture itself required 

change. Under Cheney, OSD acknowledged but did not emphasize this fact, 

and suggested that a few training sessions for the procurement community 

would suffice.10 Cheney’s successors would consider more fundamental 
288 Providing the Means of War

cultural change essential and would make such change central to their 

reform efforts. DAWIA potentially laid the groundwork for those efforts, 

though its effects could not be felt for some time.

The Peace Dividend

Throughout the Bush presidency, the world was changing rapidly. 

In late 1988 Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev announced that he 

was unilaterally cutting the Soviet military; a few months later he began 

withdrawing forces from Eastern Europe. In 1989, the communist regimes 

in Eastern Europe collapsed; the Berlin Wall fell in November, and 

Germany reunified nearly a year later. The Warsaw Pact and NATO signed 

the Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty in November 1990, 

drastically reducing the deployed forces. For all practical purposes the 

Warsaw Pact existed in name only, and it was finally dissolved formally 

in July 1991. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union itself was disintegrating. 

Gorbachev’s campaigns of glasnost (“openness”) and perestroika

(“restructuring”), intended to strengthen the Soviet state, instead unleashed 

the centrifugal forces that would tear it apart. The various republics began 

to break away, beginning with the Baltics. The collapse of the central state 

accelerated after the attempted coup of the hardliners in Moscow in August 

1991, and by the end of the year the Soviet Union no longer existed.

The Bush administration was initially wary of the transformation 

occurring in the East, but by 1990, the fall of the Soviet empire in Europe 

had pushed the Soviet Union’s military frontier back to its own unstable 

border. The conventional military threat to NATO was over, at least for 

the foreseeable future. In a major address to the Aspen Institute at Aspen, 

Colorado, on 2 August, the President declared that “the Cold War is now 

drawing to a close” and that “[w]e’re entering a new era.” Bush announced a 

major shift in U.S. strategy. Henceforth, the decades-long focus on deterring 

an attack on Western Europe would give way to one that emphasized 

engagement around the world, helping to guide and manage change and 

deter or defeat threats wherever they might arise. “[T]he world remains 

a dangerous place with serious threats to important U.S. interests wholly 

unrelated to the earlier patterns of the U.S.-Soviet relationship. These threats 

. . . can arise suddenly, unpredictably, and from unexpected quarters.” The 

United States should reduce its armed forces, but it still needed a military 

capable of protecting its interests and those of its friends and allies. It must 

remain forward deployed, engaged with the world, and ready to deploy 

quickly in the event of a major regional conflict. This address would lay the 

foundations for American military strategy in the 1990s.11
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 289

With the Soviet threat receding, other, more domestic issues began 

to loom larger, in particular the state of the economy. After years of high 

interest rates, a burgeoning deficit, and poor gains in productivity, the 

economy was weak, and by early 1990 there were growing calls for a 

“peace dividend.” Significant cuts in the defense budget and force structure 

were inevitable. Following a plan developed by the chairman of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, General Colin Powell, the administration planned to cut 

25 percent from the services by 1995 to achieve a level known as the 

“Base Force.” This would include a total personnel level of 1.6 million, 

down from 2.14 million in FY 1990. The number of active Army divisions 

would drop from 18 to 12, the Air Force tactical fighter wings from 24 to 

just over 15, and the Navy’s ships from 600 to 451, including 12 carriers.12

Meanwhile, the Base Realignment and Closure (BRAC) Commission had 

already begun the politically painful process of closing bases to reduce 

infrastructure that would not be needed in the post-Cold War world.

The debate over the defense budget was particularly fierce, waged 

between a cautious administration and a divided Congress demanding 

larger reductions. In 1990 the showdown between the two branches led to a 

budget agreement in November. Between FY 1990 and FY 1993, the defense 

budget declined 15 percent in real terms, from $381 million to $321 million 

(in constant FY 2001 dollars). Acquisition was hardest hit; procurement 

accounts dropped 40 percent in real terms, while research, development, 

test and evaluation declined by only 4 percent.13 The administration tried to 

protect its major developmental programs, especially such strategic systems 

as the B–2 stealth bomber and the Strategic Defense Initiative, while cutting 

legacy procurement programs and some developmental conventional systems, 

especially the Marine Corps V–22 Osprey tiltrotor aircraft and the Navy’s 

troubled A–12 Avenger II Stealth bomber program. Pressure from Congress 

saved the V–22, but the A–12 was plagued by rampant cost and weight 

overruns and egregious management problems. By the time Cheney shut 

it down in 1991, it had provoked a scandal that led to the unprecedented 

disciplining, reassignment, or resignation of several OSD and Navy officials, 

including Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisition John Betti.14

The drop in procurement accelerated the ongoing decline of the defense 

industrial base. Unlike the post-Vietnam slowdown, the international 

situation meant that there was little prospect of a new boost in defense 

spending for the foreseeable future, and companies across the country cut 

their workforce and closed plants. This caused particular concern as the 

country slipped into a recession by 1991, and the administration had few 

solutions to offer. The cutbacks threatened not only the industrial base 

but also the research and development (R&D) infrastructure, which was 
290 Providing the Means of War

considered critical to maintaining the country’s technological edge over 

its potential adversaries. One of the pillars of Bush’s National Military 

Strategy was the concept of “reconstitution”: If the Soviet Union (or 

another peer competitor) should revive, the United States should be able to 

restore its military strength with reasonable speed.15

Thus, while reducing the armed services’ force structure, the 

administration sought to maintain their technological edge. This is why 

the R&D funding remained steady under this administration even as 

procurement declined. There was considerable debate in the defense 

community and Congress over proposals to promote the development 

of prototypes that would then be put “on the shelf” until needed. Other 

proposals called for a “fast-track” acquisition process that would rapidly 

field successful prototypes, bypassing the traditional acquisition pipeline. 

DoD rejected both of these ideas in their extreme form. In 1992, Cheney 

reaffirmed that acquisition programs had to pass through the multiphase 

pipeline as defined in the 1991 revision of the 5000 series regulations. 

Defense acquisition would emphasize research and development, including 

the development of prototypes and “advanced technology demonstrators” 

(ATDs) to test concepts and system components. However, DoD would 

procure only those systems that were absolutely required in the field 

and that had been demonstrated to be low-risk. Cheney’s plan was very 

controversial, especially in the defense industry, which feared the loss of 

procurement contracts in favor of less-lucrative R&D work.16

The Revolution in Military Affairs

On 2 August 1990—by a bizarre coincidence, only hours before 

President Bush’s Aspen address—Iraqi forces crossed the border and seized 

the Emirate of Kuwait. This act was the sort of naked aggression that Bush 

feared in the post-Cold War “New World Order”; it was, in fact, exactly 

the sort of regional conflict he had warned about at Aspen.17 The resulting 

coalition operations, Desert Shield (August 1990–January 1991) and 

Desert Storm (January–March 1991), represented the largest American 

military buildup and operations since Vietnam.

Desert Storm marked a watershed in warfare. At first, it appeared 

to pit two Cold War-era forces against each other. The Iraqis used only 

basic Soviet-made equipment but were battle-hardened by years of war 

with Iran, while the Coalition forces were well-trained and technologically 

sophisticated but largely untested in battle. Yet the outcome was 

unexpectedly lopsided: The Iraqi forces were routed with heavy losses in 

men and equipment, while the Coalition suffered surprisingly light losses 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 291

in personnel (293 deaths, only half in battle) and negligible losses of 

equipment. The five-week air campaign was devastating, and the ground 

attack took only 100 hours to expel the Iraqis from Kuwait.

What largely impressed observers around the world was the remarkable 

array of new high-technology systems. The war saw the first use of 

stealth aircraft and Tomahawk cruise missiles, which helped neutralize the 

sophisticated Iraqi air defenses. Precision munitions such as laser-guided 

bombs struck fixed targets and stationary vehicles with seeming ease. 

Night vision and thermal imaging equipment gave Coalition armored forces 

a decisive advantage over the Iraqis tanks, which were often destroyed 

before they even realized they were in danger. Forward-looking infrared 

(FLIR) sensors gave Apache helicopters the same advantage. AWACS 

aircraft kept close watch on enemy air movement, and the airborne Joint 

Surveillance Target Attack Radar System (Joint STARS)—which was still 

only a prototype when Desert Storm began—tracked moving targets on 

the ground. Unmanned aerial vehicles provided tactical reconnaissance for 

the Marines. Far overhead, satellites provided high-resolution surveillance 

imagery, navigation data, and instant communications. Coalition units and 

even individual personnel navigated effectively in the trackless desert using 

the new Global Positioning System (GPS).18

This was not, of course, the first time that high-tech equipment was 

used in war. Guided munitions had made their appearance as far back as 

World War II and had proved effective in Vietnam, the Middle East in 

1973, and the Falklands in 1982. Nor was Desert Storm an entirely hightech war. Stealth aircraft (i.e., the F–117) conducted only 2 percent of the 

112,000 sorties, and the smart bombs constituted only 7.4 percent of the 

total tonnage of ordnance dropped.19 Although personal computers were 

used extensively for command and control, the headquarters were hardly 

digitized; electronic data had to be carried from machine to machine by 

floppy disk, and operational orders—including the massive Air Tasking 

Orders (ATO) that coordinated the air campaign—still had to be delivered 

by hand in hard copy, even to ships in the Persian Gulf. There are still 

questions about the effectiveness of some of the technology. The Air Force 

proved unable to locate or destroy mobile missile launchers in its “Scud 

hunts.” And to this day, analysts debate the effectiveness of the Patriot 

missile batteries against the Scud attacks in Saudi Arabia and Israel, with 

some claiming that few—if any—hits occurred.20

Nonetheless, the performance of the new weaponry was impressive—and 

made all the more so by the daily press briefings that carefully highlighted 

video footage from the most successful precision strikes. To many observers, 

the war merely confirmed that the new technologies would have profound, 
292 Providing the Means of War

even revolutionary, consequences for warfare. “The Gulf War provided the 

world with a vivid demonstration of the revolution in military technology 

that is reshaping the nature of warfare,” Secretary Cheney wrote in his annual 

report in February 1992. “High technology systems vastly increased the 

effectiveness of our forces. . . . The exploitation of these new technologies 

promises to change the nature of warfare significantly.”21

This was hardly a new idea. A number of theorists, including Andrew 

Marshall of the Pentagon’s Office of Net Assessment, had long foreseen 

such a development. As far back as the 1970s, the Soviets had predicted a 

“Military Technical Revolution.” But the images of bombs hitting bridges 

and buildings lent force to these visions of future warfare, which were soon 

gathered under the heading of the “Revolution in Military Affairs,” or RMA. 

An extensive literature soon grew up around this highly complex concept.22

Some theorists focused largely on the technological components of 

this so-called revolution, in particular on the impact that information 

technologies (IT) would have on future warfare. Based largely on the 

rapid development of the microprocessor and related technologies (such as 

digital networks), IT was expected to give the United States and its allies 

a decisive advantage over their enemies. It would allow forces equipped 

with highly precise weapons, networked command and control and sensor 

systems, and advanced navigation systems to lift the “fog of war,” giving 

them the ability to conduct operations with a minimum of casualties or 

collateral damage. Admiral William Owens, vice chairman of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff during the mid–1990s, foresaw the seamless linking of 

sensors, weapons, and decisionmakers in what he called the “system of 

systems.”23 The role of information came to loom so large in these visions 

of warfare that it gave rise to the closely related concept of “information 

warfare,” which calls for securing the intelligence and communications 

of friendly force while disrupting the enemy’s ability to collect, process, 

and disseminate accurate information of his own. As Admiral Owens 

stated to Congress in February 2001, “. . . if we are able to view a strategic 

battlefield . . . and prevent an enemy from doing so, we have dominant 

battlefield awareness, and we are certain to prevail in a conflict.”24 Another 

subsidiary, information-based concept was the “Revolution in Military 

Logistics,” intended to support the mobile forces with a leaner, more 

efficient processes and organization.25

Other theorists linked these technological changes more to the evolving 

international situation, where the threat of major war, even on the scale of 

Desert Storm, appeared to be overshadowed by the small but nasty local 

conflicts around the world, often involving separatist guerrilla movements, 

drug and crime syndicates, ethnic nationalists, and other nonstate actors. 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 293

According to these thinkers, large, conventionally equipped and organized 

armies that were designed to fight other armies were incapable of adapting 

to the new mode of warfare, where combat could occur unexpectedly, 

probably in a dense population center against an uncertain enemy. The 

battle in Mogadishu, Somalia, in October 1993, during what had begun as a 

humanitarian operation, was a vivid and painful example of such a conflict. 

And with the proliferation of advanced weaponry, even a second- or thirdtier regional power could become a dangerous opponent when armed with 

cruise or ballistic missiles and weapons of mass destruction. Therefore, the 

theorists said, the mass armies of the past must give way to small, light, 

lethal forces using the new technologies for greater speed and battlefield 

effectiveness. Thus, in their eyes, the Gulf War was not an example of 

an RMA conflict, in spite of its use of RMA technologies, but instead 

perhaps the last of the old-style wars requiring a large-scale mobilization, 

an extended buildup phase, and a mass attack by ponderous armored forces 

supported by a massive logistical infrastructure.

The military services began—slowly—to adopt and even embrace 

some of the RMA concepts. The first was the Army, under Chief of Staff 

General Gordon Sullivan (1991–1995), who envisioned a “digitized” Army 

he called Force XXI. As early as 1992, he ran a series of exercises called 

the Louisiana Maneuvers—named for those that introduced the Army to 

armored warfare in 1940—to explore the impact of the new information 

technology on Army organization and doctrine.26 At the end of the decade, 

Chief of Staff General Erik Shinseki (1999–2003) embraced the notion 

of making the Army more mobile and lethal, and through a process called 

“transformation” he promoted acquisitions such as the wheeled Stryker 

vehicle and a light, distributed “Future Combat System” in place of the 

heavy tank. The Air Force emphasized stealth, precision munitions, and 

command and control networks as part of its “Global Reach, Global Power” 

concept. The Marine Corps tested concepts for fast, mobile operations 

called “Operational Maneuver From the Sea” and “Ship-to-Objective 

Maneuver,” and the Navy embraced the system-of-systems approach with 

its concept of Network-Centric Warfare. In 1997, the Joint Chiefs of Staff 

itself formally endorsed a variation of RMA doctrine with its publication of 

Joint Vision 2010.

27

There were, however, severe obstacles in the way of the universal 

adoption of RMA thinking. First, the concept was by no means universally 

accepted. Not everyone was willing to embrace the changes that it would 

entail or even agreed that the idea is valid. There was, indeed, cause for 

concern that overemphasis on the technological factors of warfare could 

lead to the dangerous neglect of the human element. The organizational 
294 Providing the Means of War

and doctrinal changes needed to implement fully the RMA concept would 

be disruptive to career paths and traditional lines of authority, a disquieting 

notion to those with careers invested in the traditional military. 

Second, the various reviews that set official policy in the nineties—the 

Base Force plan of the Bush Administration, the Bottom-Up Review of the 

first Clinton administration, and the first Quadrennial Defense Review of 

the second—all emphasized the threat of a regional rogue power fighting a 

conventional, Persian Gulf-style “major regional contingency” or “theater 

war,” and the United States steadfastly sought to maintain a force structure 

suitable to fighting two of them. Indeed, to many observers it seemed 

dangerous to risk the military fortunes of the United States on an untried 

theory while such threats existed.28

A third problem was that the services remained committed to Cold Warera legacy acquisition programs, and with the budget squeeze of the 1990s, 

funding for the development and procurement of new, advanced technology 

was limited. Once a program is well along it hangs on for dear life, often 

with congressional help, and when budgets are declining the tendency is 

to stretch it out rather than end it altogether. Cheney’s experience with the 

V–22 and the A–12 were instructive: He failed to kill the first and, though 

he succeeded with the second, the issue went into expensive litigation that 

was not finally settled until more than a decade later.

A final problem was that the Department of Defense had particular 

difficulty adapting its acquisition process to the research, development, 

and procurement of the information technology so central to the RMA 

concepts. IT typically has product development cycles measured in months, 

while defense cycle times average years and even decades. Most new 

weapons acquisition programs used obsolete technology—sometimes by 

several generations—well before they even went into production. Many 

systems operational at the end of the century still used the equivalent of 

the Intel 80286 chip, which had not been in widespread civilian use for 

almost fifteen years. The insistence on applying military standards and 

military specifications to defense procurements prevented timely purchase 

of commercially available parts, and few companies were willing to adapt 

their products for military purposes. Indeed, given the good market for 

commercial IT during the 1990s and the onerous burdens associated with 

government procurement, many companies were unwilling to do business 

with the government at all.29

An example of the bureaucratic problems inherent in commercial-offthe-shelf (COTS) IT purchasing occurred during the Gulf War. The Army 

placed an emergency order for 6,000 widely marketed commercial radio 

receivers, and the urgency was such that it waived all military requirements 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 295

and specifications. However, no procurement official could be found who 

was willing to take responsibility for waiving the requirement for the 

company to certify that the Army was being offered the lowest available 

price. No company official would make such a certification either, for 

fear of making an accidental misstatement that would constitute a felony. 

The impasse was broken only when the Japanese government bought 

the radios without certification and donated them to the U.S. Army as 

part of its contribution to the war effort.30 Any serious effort to make 

information technology central to defense acquisition would have to find a 

way to cut through such regulations. This became a major focus of the next 

administration.

Reinventing Defense Acquisition, 1993–1997

The Clinton Administration entered office committed to fundamental 

reform, far more than any of its predecessors. The idea was to “reinvent 

government,” the stated goal of the National Performance Review headed 

by Vice President Al Gore. Procurement reform was a centerpiece of 

this effort, not just in DoD but throughout the federal government. The 

“reinventing government” philosophy was based on two basic ideas: 

the embrace of information technology, from putting computers in the 

classroom to the overhaul of government operations; and the empowerment 

of the federal workforce through deregulation, decentralization, and the 

encouragement of innovation. This second objective ran counter to the 

principles of the reform movement of the 1980s, which emphasized heavy 

regulation of the workforce on the theory that it could not be trusted. 

Indeed, some of the early opponents of the Clinton administration’s reforms 

were the old Democratic committee chairmen in Congress.31

DoD itself was staffed with such reformers as Les Aspin, Clinton’s 

first secretary of Defense; Bill Perry, Aspin’s deputy and successor; John 

Deutch, under secretary of Defense for Acquisition (soon renamed under 

secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology, or USD[A&T]); and 

Paul Kaminski, Deutch’s successor when the latter became Perry’s deputy. 

They were predisposed to reform, but in any event they had little choice: The 

acquisition system could not continue to function in the traditional ways. 

As a candidate, Clinton had pledged to reduce the last Bush defense budget 

by a further $60 billion. The budget, in decline since 1985, continued to fall 

throughout Clinton’s first term. The overall defense budget dropped almost 

21 percent in real terms from fiscal 1993 to fiscal 1997; during that time 

procurement dropped 25 percent while R&D spending fell about 9 percent.32

Overall, procurement had fallen almost 70 percent since the 1980s. The 
296 Providing the Means of War

administration also reduced the force structure below that of the Base Force, 

until it leveled off at just under 1.4 million personnel.

Yet Secretary Aspin’s Bottom-Up Review in 1993 adhered to the 

fundamental strategy laid down by its predecessor, that of preparing to 

fight two major regional contingencies. Under fire from the start for 

its supposedly antimilitary leanings, the administration was unable or 

unwilling to confront the defense establishment directly over acquisition. 

It made little attempt to challenge the services’ major acquisition plans 

and programs, preferring instead to starve them slowly. Under these 

circumstances, DoD could no longer afford to pay a premium for defensespecific technologies or to support a bloated defense industry and 

infrastructure. Furthermore, new approaches were required to obtain the 

required high technologies that would be difficult or impossible to obtain 

from defense industries alone. DoD would have to learn to work with 

commercial industry, which meant adjusting its own acquisition practices.

Deputy Secretary—and later Secretary—Perry was the driving force 

behind DoD’s reform effort. He had overseen weapon system R&D and 

procurement in the Carter administration, and after returning to industry and 

academe, he promoted acquisition reform as a member of various panels, 

including the Packard Commission and the Defense Science Board. He had 

given much thought to acquisition reform during his long career, and he 

understood that the problems were complex and would require careful and 

sustained effort.

Perry realized that the first requirement was to institutionalize reform, 

giving someone the full-time job to plan and monitor it. Soon after entering 

the administration, he and Aspin established the position of deputy under 

secretary of Defense for Acquisition Reform (DUSD[AR]), with a dedicated 

staff to plan and oversee all reform activities. To this key position he 

appointed Colleen Preston, a lawyer and long-time congressional staff 

member who had worked on the Competition in Contracting Act of 1984, 

the Defense Procurement Reform Act of 1984, the Defense Procurement 

Improvement Acts of 1985 and 1986, and the Defense Acquisition Workforce 

Improvement Act in 1991. As general counsel of the House Committee on 

Armed Services under Aspin, she had been a driving force behind the Section 

800 Panel, and she now made its recommendations a centerpiece to her initial 

reform efforts.33 She was hard-driving and energetic. An administration 

colleague and fellow reformer later noted that she was “acquisition reform’s 

legendary streetfighter during the tough years of bureaucratic battles within 

the Pentagon over the direction and pace of reform.”34 To ensure that the 

reform effort penetrated down to the services, similar acquisition reform 

offices were established in each of the military departments.
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 297

Preston immediately began working with Perry and Deutch to devise 

a program for acquisition reform. Within a week of his confirmation 

as secretary of Defense in February 1984, Perry released the plan, 

titled Acquisition Reform: A Mandate for Change. The plan outlined a 

comprehensive program calling for flexibility, streamlining, and low-level 

initiative in procurement, and emphasizing the importance of commercial 

purchasing. It also indicated that reform would be an ongoing process, 

with new ideas tried and implemented as appropriate.35 To advise on the 

implementation of the plan and to build consensus for it within DoD, 

Preston organized the DoD Acquisition Reform Senior Steering Group 

(ARSSG), comprising senior acquisition officials in OSD and the services, 

the director of the Defense Logistics Agency, the vice chairman of the Joint 

Chiefs of Staff, and the DoD inspector general.36

The administration decided to attack the problem of acquisition reform 

in three rounds, reflecting immediate, near-term, and long-term goals. 

The first round sought to achieve actions with a high-payoff or one-time 

opportunity to effect change. One of these was to assemble a package 

of legislative proposals for Congress based on the recommendations 

of the Section 800 Panel, which had reported in January 1993. 

Second- and third-round activities depended on priority and available 

resources. The administration’s goals were to reduce the requirements 

for government-unique specifications and standards, promote the use 

of commercial practices, improve the decision-making process for 

major systems, streamline the procurement process through improved 

source selection procedures and approved business practices, improve 

contract administration and regulation, and define metrics for success. 

Responsibility for formulating the various initiatives and policies to 

accomplish these goals was assigned to interagency groups of experts and 

practitioners called process action teams (PATs).37

Although following the acquisition principles espoused by the Packard 

Commission (which had been formulated under Perry’s guidance), this 

reform program differed significantly from earlier efforts, including 

Cheney’s Defense Management Report. It was not limited to organizational 

rearrangements and managerial improvements at the OSD level, but instead 

focused on the low-level business practices of program managers and other 

acquisition officials and workers. These included the replacing of military 

with commercial specifications and standards and the purchase of COTS 

technology where feasible. Perry also promoted a variety of other innovative 

practices, such as the use of the Single Process Initiative and Integrated 

Product Teams, an outgrowth of Total Quality Management (TQM) popular 

in the 1980s and early 1990s. To encourage the adoption of these methods, 
298 Providing the Means of War

Perry and his subordinates issued letters, memoranda, and instructions 

urging or ordering their use. Many of these concepts were enshrined in a new 

revision of the 5000 series acquisition documents issued in 1996.38

Congress cooperated fully in providing the necessary authority for 

regulatory changes. This was partly because there were no longer any 

outspoken opponents of reform, as in the eighties; reform was a bipartisan 

issue, with leaders of both parties in favor. Indeed, after 1995, this was one 

of the few issues on which the Republican-controlled Congress and the 

Democratic administration could agree. Furthermore, the administration 

included many former congressional staffers such as Preston, who had 

close ties with Capitol Hill and could work closely with it to fashion the 

legislation to everyone’s satisfaction. Finally, the report of the Section 800 

Panel provided a clear, unambiguous course of legislative action acceptable 

to both the executive and legislative branches.39

 The legislative package presented by the administration was enacted 

in 1994 as the Federal Acquisition Streamlining Act (FASA or FASTA).40

FASA made procurement easier by exempting commercial items from 

unique government requirements, allowing the use of simplified buying 

procedures for inexpensive purchases, and promoting the use of electronic 

commerce. It also called for performance-based management and the 

increased reliance on commercial products. This was a landmark piece of 

legislation, not because it fully overhauled the government’s acquisition 

system—it did not—but because it signaled to the workforce that the 

reform movement had full congressional support and the force of law. 

Indeed, acquisition workers would often justify innovative procurement 

actions on the basis of FASA, whether or not the law actually applied to the 

particular case. Two years later Congress passed a pair of laws, the Federal 

Acquisition Reform Act (FARA)41 of 1995 and the Information Technology 

Management Reform Act of 1995 (ITMRA), which together were known 

as the Clinger-Cohen Act.42 These acts further streamlined the acquisition 

process, especially for information technology.

The reformers understood that all the reform edicts in the world would 

not stick unless the culture of the acquisition workforce changed. They 

believed they had to create a new, reform-minded culture. The new leaders 

tirelessly promoted reform by giving frequent speeches and interviews, 

holding symposia and conferences devoted to reform, publishing reform 

newsletters and reform-oriented articles in the established journals, 

publicizing acquisition reform “success stories,” and publicly rewarding 

innovators and effective managers. They held holiday-like Acquisition 

Reform Days—the first was on 31 May 1996—when all workers stopped 

their regular routine to learn about reform. The Acquisition Reform 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 299

Communications Center (ARCC) was established under the auspices of 

the Defense Acquisition University to provide additional educational tools. 

The various professional educational courses were reworked to explain the 

new approaches, and certification standards were tightened. The reformers 

promoted the use of the Internet to improve communication among and 

disseminate information to the workforce, to “get the message out.” The 

acquisition reform offices in OSD and the services all set up websites 

making information and ideas widely available. One important new 

resource was the Defense Acquisition Deskbook, an online reference tool 

and instruction book. The deskbook included both mandatory regulations 

and discretionary guidance, with emphasis on the latter. The goal was to 

teach and encourage workers to use their own judgment in devising plans 

and making decisions, which was difficult after the long years of frequent 

audits, persistent investigations, well-publicized scandals, and zealous 

prosecutions. “That’s [something] we have talked about for a long time,” 

Preston said, “but nobody has been able to break the code and change the 

culture of everybody living in fear of the [inspector general].”43 Through all 

these efforts, acquisition reform became the mantra of the nineties.44

The military departments responded by issuing their own directives 

and instructions matching those of OSD. They also launched their own 

initiatives, again mirroring those of OSD. For example, the assistant 

secretary of the Navy for Research, Development, and Acquisition 

(ASN[RDA]), John Douglass, declared in 1996, “Acquisition Reform 

is a top priority within the Navy.” The service issued a new version of 

SECNAVINST 5000.2, its equivalent of DoD’s 5000 series documents, 

adopting many of the reform ideas. The Navy also established an 

Acquisition Center of Excellence (ACE).45 The Air Force issued its 

“Lightning Bolts,” initiatives intended to achieve some of the goals of the 

reformers, albeit in a more limited way.46

The reformers attacked various aspects of the acquisition problem. 

One key effort was to speed the fielding of new technologies and systems, 

partly by improving the input by the warfighters into both the requirements 

and developments process. With regards to the requirements process, 

Admiral William Owen set about reorganizing the Joint Requirements 

Oversight Council, which he chaired from 1994 to 1996. Established under 

the Goldwater-Nichols Act, the JROC comprised the service vice chiefs 

under the leadership of the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It 

was intended to promoted jointness in the development of requirements, 

the first step in the acquisitions process. In practice, however, the original 

JROC had proved a disappointment. It relied on consensus for making 

decisions and, as a result, became more of a discussion group and a rubber 
300 Providing the Means of War

stamp for service wish lists than a vigorous participant in the origination, 

selection, and definition of requirements. Civilians in OSD and the military 

departments tended to dominate the process in their capacity as budget and 

program planners. Owens reformed the JROC to strengthen its influence 

and authority even outside of its narrow acquisition functions, and he 

devised a new organization to link it more closely with the Joint Staff, the 

regional commanders-in-chief (CINCs), and the services in the analysis 

of future warfighting requirements. Owens’s reforms had only moderate 

success. The very nature of JROC, with its need for consensus, sharply 

limited the influence it could exert. It proved useful for ensuring that joint 

issues were considered in service acquisition programs, but it still did not 

take a forward role in shaping the direction of major systems acquisition.47

The administration also tried to improve warfighter input into the 

R&D process through the establishment of Advanced Concept Technology 

Demonstrations (ACTDs). These were an outgrowth of the Cheney’s 

Advanced Technology Demonstrations (ATDs) of 1992. Aspin adapted the 

idea with a new name and a somewhat new objective. Aspin intended the 

ACTDs to be used to interactively refine the operational concepts for the 

new technologies and to perfect the system designs. He did not intend for 

the prototypes to be fielded. However, Perry realigned the concept by adding 

the idea that the ACTD systems should be fielded if they prove successful, 

in the way that Joint STARS was fielded during the Gulf War. However, he 

also restricted them to smaller, simpler systems that had joint applications, 

such as a countermine system, an enhanced fiber-optic guided missile, and 

a high-altitude endurance unmanned aerial vehicle. In other words, they 

were not to be large-scale, complex platforms such as a manned aircraft or 

armored vehicles. Many of the later projects approved as ACTDs represented 

information systems (especially command and control systems) of use in a 

high-technology military force or defenses against sophisticated weaponry. 

The ACTDs were to help provide the services with RMA-oriented enabling 

technologies as quickly and as inexpensively as possible.48

A key goal of the reformers was to promote the integration of 

civilian and military industry by shifting from reliance on a defensespecific industry to one that provided dual-use, commercially available 

technologies. This was done in part through regulatory reform, based on 

the recommendations of the Section 800 Panel. On 29 June 1994, Perry 

instituted a performance-based (versus a standards-based) solicitation 

process and mandated the replacement of military specifications with 

commercial standards. Instead of specifying the detailed characteristics and 

design of a system, the services were to indicate the desired performance 

standards and allow the contractors to come up with ways to accomplish 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 301

them.49 By easing the requirements for the use of military specifications 

and standards, as well as a host of other regulations governing reporting 

and contracting, the reformers hoped to lure commercial firms into doing 

business with DoD. Meanwhile, companies were encouraged to invest in 

dual-use technologies marketable for both defense and civilian applications. 

The Technology Reinvestment Project (TRP), authorized by Congress in 

the fall of 1992, provided grants to companies to make such investments in 

suitable technologies of interest to DoD.50

For those defense-oriented companies that could not or would not 

convert to civilian or dual-use production, however, the administration 

initially had little sympathy. Aspin and Perry set off a frenzy of mergers 

after a 1993 dinner that industry leader Norm Augustine famously referred 

to as “the Last Supper.” The DoD leaders bluntly told industry officials 

that the defense budget would continue to decline and that “we expect 

defense companies to go out of business. We will stand by and watch 

it happen.” This consolidation actually accelerated what had already 

begun in the 1980s. Of approximately fifty major defense companies in 

1982, only five remained by 1997.51 This led to fears about the lack of 

competition, and the administration was forced to devise ways to ensure 

that not only was more than one company available to bid on a contract, 

but that the work of production would be spread among all appropriate 

companies, so that alternate suppliers would always be available and the 

loss of a major competitive procurement would not put any company out 

of business. The administration that began by proclaiming that it did not 

care if companies went out of business, soon found itself propping them up 

often to the detriment of the tightly stretched procurement accounts.

The “Death Spiral,” 1997–2001

The second Clinton administration continued its emphasis on reform. 

Underscoring that fact, in early 1997 the White House published the Blair 

House Papers, a pocket guide to the reform concepts espoused by Gore’s 

National Performance Review.52 Reform continued to be emphasized 

at DoD also, but under a new set of reformers. Perry stepped down as 

secretary and was succeeded by William Cohen, a Republican senator 

who had sponsored reform legislation such as the Clinger-Cohen Act. 

His deputy, John Hamre, was another former congressional staff member 

who served as the Pentagon’s comptroller in the first administration. The 

new under secretary for Acquisition and Technology (soon to be the under 

secretary for Acquisition, Technology, and Logistics, or USD[AT&L]) was 

Dr. Jacques Gansler, a well-known defense intellectual who had written a 
302 Providing the Means of War

number of books and articles on acquisition policy and reform (largely on 

the problem of civil-military integration) and participated in acquisition 

reform studies, including the Packard Commission.53 His new deputy for 

acquisition reform would be Stan Soloway, a consultant and lobbyist who 

had been an active member of the Acquisition Reform Working Group, an 

industry organization.

Even more than the first administration, the second took strongly to the 

RMA idea as expressed in Joint Vision 2010. However, like the first, the 

second administration effected no major structural, strategic, or acquisition 

changes. The congressionally mandated Quadrennial Defense Review 

(QDR), released by DoD in May 1997, was widely seen as promoting the 

fundamental status quo, with continued emphasis on defending against two 

major regional contingencies (now called “major theater wars”). Although 

the defense budget had leveled off and even began showing modest growth, 

much of this was eaten up in the cost of the various peacekeeping and 

humanitarian deployments and in the rising costs of maintaining current 

equipment. In spite of all its reform activities and in spite of the budgetary 

pressures, the first administration had been unable to significantly bring 

down the cost of developing major systems.

The dilemma was that as the existing equipment—much of it procured 

during the 1970s—aged, the cost of keeping it in operating condition rose 

dramatically, especially when it received heavy use in such operations as 

combat in Serbia in 1999 and the extended enforcement of the no-fly zones 

over Iraq. The procurement accounts, already too small to permit largescale modernization of the force, were often raided to support operations 

and maintenance, causing considerable program delays, disruptions and 

instability, as well as shortages of spare parts. Newer and more modern 

systems were increasingly unaffordable, but the longer modernization was 

delayed, the older and more fragile the existing equipment became, and 

therefore the more expensive it became to maintain—thus further eating up 

scarce defense dollars. Gansler aptly termed this vicious circle the “death 

spiral,” and he gave dire warnings of the ultimate consequences if left 

unchecked, including the prospect of major program terminations.54

The financial pressure was even making itself felt in the reform 

movement. Although the reformers had introduced a number of concepts 

to be applied to programs, one came to dominate: Cost as an Independent 

Variable (CAIV), which essentially meant that the cost of a system would 

be considered along with its usefulness, added value, risk, and the time 

required to develop it. Instead of being one factor under consideration, 

cost in many cases became the primary factor, and affordability became a 

standard buzzword in briefings and sales pitches. Gansler himself issued 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 303

a paper in January 1999 entitled Into the 21st Century: A Strategy for 

Affordability.55 Meanwhile, programs continued to stretch and, in the long 

run, grow more expensive.

In lieu of canceling major programs, DoD sought to squeeze yet 

more efficiencies out of them. In accordance with the QDR, Secretary 

Cohen formed a bipartisan Defense Reform Task Force and, in the fall of 

1997, announced a new effort, the Defense Reform Initiative (DRI). This 

initiative would seek to accomplish a “Revolution in Business Affairs,” 

fundamentally changing the way the Pentagon operated by streamlining 

DoD functions, adopting the best business practices of the private sector, 

consolidating redundant organizations, outsourcing as many activities 

as possible and allowing industry to compete with the government, and 

eliminating excess infrastructure. The plan would make heavy use of 

information technology, for example, by seeking paperless transactions. In 

many respects, it harkened back to early reform plans: While maintaining 

and using the concepts introduced under Perry, the DRI focused on 

improving management and saving money by eliminating waste, increasing 

efficiency, and cutting seemingly bloated staffs. It should be noted that 

the DRI was not a substitute for acquisition reform but was meant to 

complement it. A separate office directed the DRI, initially under the 

secretary directly but after 1999 under the auspices of the deputy under 

secretary for acquisition reform.56

In the years following the release of the Defense Reform Initiative, 

DoD continued its efforts to improve systems acquisition. Greater emphasis 

was placed on promoting joint interoperability, reducing cycle times, and 

lowering the total ownership costs of the weapons, including maintenance, 

overhaul and upgrade, and deactivation costs. And, of course, DoD sought 

to reduce acquisition costs overall. Although the ultimate outcome of 

these various reform initiatives remains to be seen, some signs were not 

promising. In spite of the occasional success story, the cost of acquisition 

remained high and civil-military integration was still a dream. A report by 

Senator Fred Thompson (R–TN) in 2001 warned of financial chaos in DoD’s 

accounting system and quoted Senator Robert Byrd (D–WV) as saying, 

“The Pentagon’s books are in such utter disarray that no one knows what 

America’s military actually owns or spends.”57 Another serious concern was 

the shape of the acquisition workforce. Studies warned that the workforce—

which had already shrunk dramatically over the past ten years because of 

cutbacks and automation—would be hit with a wave of retirements during 

the first decade of the twenty-first century, and far fewer young people had 

an interest in government service, especially in acquisition-related fields. 

A similar problem, and a particularly worrisome one given the growing 
304 Providing the Means of War

movement toward RMA concepts and technologies, was the mounting 

shortage of qualified technicians, engineers, and scientists—both civilian 

and military—who were capable of designing, producing, operating and 

maintaining the new high-technology equipment.

Yet positive changes did begin to occur, especially in acquisition 

practices. Important concepts such as joint interoperability, cycle-time 

reduction, and total ownership costs were being adopted and, increasingly, 

having an impact. The use of computer modeling and simulation was 

drastically reducing the costs and time of design engineering. The 5000 

series acquisition regulations, newly revised in 2000,58 moved still further 

away from traditional, Cold War approaches to acquisition. For example, 

they specified that there were a number of possible ways to conduct and 

acquisition program, not just one. The new regulations gave preference to 

an approach called “evolutionary acquisition,” in which the capabilities of 

a given system were advanced incrementally through a series of “block” 

changes (the first fielded system would be “Block I”). This approach was 

intended to provide a usable system relatively quickly, avoiding the long 

delays and cost overruns associated with a high-risk development program 

that sought to achieve ambitious technological goals in a single jump.

The services themselves began, hesitatingly, to experiment with new 

acquisition concepts. The Navy, for example, which was struggling with an 

underfunded shipbuilding budget, tried a new approach in its Arsenal Ship 

program, a joint effort conducted with the Defense Advanced Research 

Projects Agency in the mid–1990s. This program deliberately eschewed 

the Navy’s traditional procedures for ship acquisition. Ship concepts were 

proposed by competing contractor teams who were given freedom to 

prepare their own designs without restrictive requirements, as long as they 

met broad performance and firm cost goals. A four-page Ship Capabilities 

Document (SCD) replaced the thousands of pages of requirements and 

specifications usually presented to the contractors. The small joint program 

office worked with the teams but did not interfere too heavily with the 

design process, allowing the teams to explore various ideas. Although 

the program was ultimately canceled because of funding problems and 

concerns about the concept, the participants were enthusiastic about the 

approach used, elements of which were later adopted for the Zumwalt-class 

DD–21 destroyer program.59

Acquisition for a New World War, 2001– 2003

The Republican administration of President George W. Bush, which 

took office in January 2001, was considerably less interested in the reform 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 305

initiatives of its predecessor. Many of the innovative policies and procedures 

established by Aspin, Perry, and Cohen remained in place, but in general, the 

fifteen-year quest to implement the Packard Commission recommendations 

was over. Indeed, the very term “acquisition reform,” the watchword of the 

Clinton years, was virtually abolished, to be replaced by the amorphous 

“acquisition excellence.”

This is not to say that the new administration wished to preserve the 

status quo. Far from it. During his campaign, candidate George W. Bush 

spoke in favor of the transformation of the military into a lighter, hightechnology force capable of conducting aggressive mobile campaigns 

anywhere in the world. His secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, 

strongly favored such transformation and pressed the cause against 

considerable resistance among the services. As a member of a conservative, 

pro-military administration, Rumsfeld was in a much stronger position to 

effect substantive changes to the acquisition program than his immediate 

predecessors had been. In particular, Rumsfeld shocked the defense 

community when he canceled the Army’s program to develop Crusader, an 

armored, automated, self-propelled howitzer, because the secretary believed 

it was too heavy and slow for the sort of force he envisioned.

Rumsfeld also wanted to shake up the status quo within Pentagon and 

service organizations. He scorned the bureaucracies, which resisted change 

and clung to the old, traditional ways of conducting business. But whereas 

the Clinton reformers had sought to encourage cultural change with fanfare 

and hoopla, Rumsfeld took a combative approach: He declared “war on 

bureaucracy.” With characteristically strong language, he declared that the 

Pentagon bureaucracy 

is an adversary that poses a threat, a serious threat, to the security of the United 

States of America. This adversary is one of the world’s last bastions of central planning. It governs by dictating five-year plans. From a single capital, it attempts to 

impose its demands across time zones, continents, oceans and beyond. With brutal 

consistency, it stifles free thought and crushes new ideas. It disrupts the defense of 

the United States and places the lives of men and women in uniform at risk. . . . In 

this building [i.e., the Pentagon] . . . money disappears into duplicative duties and 

bloated bureaucracy—not because of greed, but gridlock. Innovation is stifled—not 

by ill intent but by institutional inertia.60

Rumsfeld announced his war on bureaucracy on 10 September 2001. 

The next day, he had a much larger war to worry about. The terrorist 

attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon shocked the nation 

and led to a period of defense expansion and aggressive military operations 

overseas. By October, the United States was engaged in a campaign in 

Afghanistan against the Al Qaeda terrorist group and its Taliban protectors. 
306 Providing the Means of War

The campaign reflected Rumsfeld’s approach to military operations: a 

minimal commitment of heavy troops and equipment and a heavy emphasis 

on mobile special forces and the use of high technology to locate and strike 

the enemy with precision. Rumsfeld used that basic philosophy against Iraq 

in 2003. Although that campaign involved more heavy forces than the one 

in Afghanistan, Operation Iraqi Freedom relied on a far smaller force than 

was used in 1991, and it began with a precision strike against the person of 

Saddam Hussein himself instead of a long strategic air campaign. Despite 

some setbacks, the Army and Marine units seized Baghdad and toppled 

Saddam’s regime in three weeks.

The Iraqi campaign demonstrated the technological advances in the 

U.S. military that had occurred in spite of the “procurement pause” of 

the 1990’s, and the fruits of the emphasis on jointness. It is interesting 

to note that in terms of the basic platforms, the force that invaded Iraq 

in 2003 was virtually the same as that which had fought the Iraqis in 

Kuwait twelve years before. Indeed, with the exception of the B–2 stealth 

bomber (in a conventional role—its nuclear mission had disappeared with 

the Soviet Union) and perhaps the FA–18E/F, there were no new major 

platforms. Yet many of the tanks, aircraft, and other systems had much 

advanced capabilities, thanks to selective high-technology upgrades and the 

expansion of high-bandwidth communication networks linking platforms, 

headquarters, and units in the field—even among the several services. 

Coalition aircraft were often able to destroy Iraq’s conventional weapons 

systems and forces before they became a threat to advancing coalition 

forces. Whereas in 1991 only a small percentage of the bombs dropped 

were “smart,” twelve years later 90 percent were, thanks in large part to 

one of the most successful acquisition programs of the nineties, the Joint 

Direct Attack Munition (JDAM). A model joint program and an acquisition 

reform success story, the JDAM was an inexpensive guidance system that 

could be attached to an old “iron” bomb, turning it into effective precisionguided munition at a fraction of the cost of a new weapon.61 While large, 

expensive platforms such as the B–2, the F–22 fighter, and the Seawolfand Virginia-class submarines garnered the most public interest during the 

nineties, the high-technology upgrading of the military with systems such as 

the JDAM, the Longbow for the Apache helicopter, the Predator unmanned 

aerial vehicle (UAV), and various network development programs, elicited 

little attention but ultimately had the greatest impact on the improvement of 

American military capabilities.

The rise of joint interoperability—the ability of the various platforms 

and units of any service to share data and information—was one of the 

most significant yet little publicized developments. Throughout the era of 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 307

the Cold War, the services and other DoD components had created their 

own unique information and communication systems that usually used 

proprietary or specially developed hardware and software. These stovepiped 

systems could not interact with each other, were expensive to produce and 

maintain, and chained the government to the suppliers of the proprietary 

technology. During the 1990s DoD made a concerted effort to force the 

services and defense agencies to adopt common architectures and standards 

and to use non-proprietary “open systems.” In the early part of the decade, 

DoD created the Defense Information Infrastructure (DII) and in 1993 

published a set of standards called the Common Operating Environment 

(COE). The COE included software components, programming standards, 

and an overall architecture to allow new defense systems to plug into 

the DII the way commercial computer applications can “plug and play” 

in Microsoft’s WindowsTM. As an open system, it permitted the DII to 

incorporate nonproprietary developments from a wide variety of sources. 

In 1996, DoD released the Joint Technical Architecture (JTA) v. 1.0, which 

specified common interfaces to be used by the information technology in 

new defense systems. Then Under Secretary for Acquisition Paul Kaminski 

directed that all acquisition programs were required to adhere to the JTA. 

Every couple of years a new version of the JTA was released with new, 

upgraded standards; version 4.0 was approved in 2002.62

However, the campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq also revealed the 

limitations of high technology and of Rumsfeld’s vision of winning wars 

with small but lethal forces. An unconventional, low-tech opponent could 

better evade the sophisticated sensors and precision-guided munitions of 

the U.S. forces. At Tora Bora in Afghanistan, a sizable force of al Qaeda 

fighters escaped through the rugged terrain to Pakistan. During the advance 

on Baghdad and even after the end of major operations, coalition forces 

were plagued by attacks on their lines of communications by mobile 

and lightly armed guerillas and paramilitary fighters. In such instances, 

technology could not entirely substitute for manpower. Furthermore, 

in spite of the great strides that precision weapons made in avoiding 

“collateral damage,” it was still impossible to avoid killing and maiming 

civilians and destroying nonmilitary targets if the enemy chooses to mix in 

with the population and use schools and hospitals for military purposes—as 

he is increasingly likely to do as our targeting capabilities improve. In such 

cases, the use of high technology cannot help U.S. forces in the field escape 

the cruel dilemmas that war inevitably imposes.

As the Pentagon prosecuted the war on terror and on Iraq, Rumsfeld 

prosecuted his own war on the Pentagon bureaucracy and the traditional 

ways of doing business. He launched the most radical reform of defense 
308 Providing the Means of War

processes in a generation. In October 2002, his office canceled the existing 

acquisition regulations embodied in Directive 5000.1 and Instruction 

5000.2, and issued new regulations the following May.63 These new 

documents sought to eliminate the prescriptive approach of the previous 

regulations (especially those of 1991) and, like the 2000 regulations, they 

called for flexibility in program management because “[t]here is no one

best way.” Again, they emphasized evolutionary acquisition, in which 

the program produced a system of lesser capability that could then be 

improved with incremental upgrades (formerly known as block changes). 

By sacrificing some capability, the program would reduce risk and, it was 

believed, be more likely to field a usable system in a reasonable amount of 

time. Only then, after the system had been demonstrated, would a decision 

be made whether the improvements justified the cost and risk. Within the 

evolutionary acquisition model, the regulations specified two processes. 

“Incremental development” called for achieving a required capability—

say, a desired range or level of accuracy of a missile—through several 

intermediate steps. “Spiral development” was a more iterative process 

in which the decision to pursue incremental advances depended on the 

maturation of the technology and the evolution of the requirement. In other 

words, the program was not seeking to achieve any predetermined ultimate 

capability. For example, the bandwidth on a communications network could 

be steadily upgraded as the technology allows and as military requirements 

demanded. The regulations stated a preference for spiral development.

The revision of the requirements generation system, published soon 

after in coordination with the overhaul of the acquisition system, was even 

more dramatic.64 Traditionally, the military services controlled the process 

of generating their requirements. They determined their own needs and 

produced the documents (such as the mission needs statement and the 

operational requirements document) laying out the desired capabilities. 

This was usually done independently of the other services. The Joint 

Requirements Oversight Council had, as its name indicated, an oversight 

and coordinating role. This process produced service-unique weapons 

systems that could not interact with systems of the other services. There 

would be considerable duplication among the programs, as each service 

would have its own unique aircraft, missiles, communications equipment, 

and so on. Furthermore, while the various programs addressed the services’ 

tactical needs and took advantage of technological opportunities, they had 

little relationship with national military strategy and strategic objectives. 

There was little connection between policy and acquisition.

The Joint Capabilities Integration and Development System (JCIDS), 

as the requirements generation process was now called, removed the 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 309

responsibility of requirements generation from the control of the military 

services and gave it to an expanded JROC. Requirements were to be 

developed, not by service organizations, but by joint bodies known as 

functional capabilities boards (FCBs), which had strong representation 

from the Joint Staff, the unified and specified commands, and civilians 

in the Office of the Secretary of Defense. These boards were intended 

to ensure that consideration was given first to nonmaterial solutions to 

operational problems, that the requirements were reasonable in light of 

the state of technology, that joint interoperability was considered, and that 

the requirements accorded with the national military strategy and policy. 

In other words, strategy would determine acquisition, not the other way 

around.

It is, of course, too early to know as of this writing (2003) what 

the ultimate impact of these ambitious reforms would be. In one sense, 

however, they sent an important message: that Rumsfeld was determined to 

change DoD’s approach to acquisition and achieve the transformation of the 

U.S. military to an efficient, light-but-lethal high-tech force. Only time will 

tell whether that goal, too, is successful.
310 Providing the Means of War

Notes

1

 George H. W. Bush, “Address on Administration Goals Before a 

Joint Session of Congress,” 9 February 1989, http://bushlibrary.tamu.edu/

papers/1989/89020900.html. 2

 Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney, Defense Management: Report to 

the President (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Defense, July 1989), 

3–7, 17 (hereafter cited as DMR). In practice, the DCMA was established as 

the Defense Contracts Management Command (DCMC) within DLA; DCMA 

was not finally spun out from DLA until the late 1990s. See U.S. Secretary of

Defense, Annual Report to the President and the Congress (January 1991), 31 

(hereafter cited as DoD, Annual Report, 1991).

3 DMR, 25. The quote comes from U.S. Congress, Office of Technology

Assessment, Holding the Edge: Maintaining the Defense Technology Base, 

OTA–ISC–420 (Washington, D.C.: GPO, April 1989), 9–10. 4

 DoD, Annual Report, 1992, 36. 5

 Ibid., 28.

6

 Joe Ferrara, “DoD’s 5000 Documents: Evolution and Change in Defense 

Acquisition Policy,” Acquisition Review Quarterly (Fall 1996): 121–22. 7

 DoD, Annual Report, 1992, 29.

8

 U.S. Congress, National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 

1991, PL 101–510, Title VIII, sec. 800.

9

 U.S. Congress, Defense Acquisition Workforce Improvement Act, 

PL 101–510, Chapter 87, Title XII; Dr. James H. Edgar, “The Origins of 

the Defense Acquisition Workforce Improvement Act (DAWIA),” in this 

volume. See also “Discussion of the Acquisition Workforce Improvement 

Act” (http://www.acq.osd.mil/ar/dawiadis.html).

10 DoD, Annual Report, 1993, 41. 11 George H. W. Bush, “Remarks at the Aspen Institute Symposium 

in Aspen, Colorado,” 2 August 1990, http://bushlibrary.tamu.edu/

papers/1990/90080206.html. 12 DoD Annual Report, 1993, 27. For the development of the Base Force 

concept see Lorna S. Jaffe, The Development of the Base Force, 1989–1992

(Washington, D.C.: Joint History Office, Office of the Chairman of the 

Joint Chiefs of Staff, 1993); Don M. Snider, “Strategy, Forces and Budgets: 

Dominant Influences in Executive Decision Making, Post-Cold War, 1989–

91,” National Defense University, Strategic Studies Institute, Feb. 1993, 

http://carlisle-www.army.mil/usassi/ssipubs/pubs93e/budgets/budgets.pdf. 13 These figures are from Department of Defense Key Officials, 1947–

2000 (Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 2000), 86; DoD,

Annual Report, 1994, B–1.
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 311

14 For the A-12 scandal, see James P. Stevenson, The $5 Billion 

Misunderstanding (Annapolis, Md., 2001).

15 DoD, Annual Report, 1992, 9.

16 Ibid., 25; DoD, Annual Report, 1993, 36–38; Director of Defense 

Research and Engineering, Defense Science and Technology Strategy, July 

1992. One Air Force officer with experience in prototyping considered

Cheney’s proposal highly flawed; see Devin L. Cate, Where Have All the

Prototypes Gone? The Failure of the Prototyping Initiatives of the 1990s, 

Research Paper submitted to Research Department, Air Command and Staff 

College, AU/ACSC/0009/97–03, March 1997, esp. 25–29.

17 Bush first used the term in a speech to Congress on 11 September

1990, http://bushlibrary.tamu.edu/papers/1990/90091101.html. 18 U.S. Department of Defense, Conduct of the Persian Gulf War: Final 

Report to Congress (Washington, D.C.: GPO, April 1992), 173–74, 176–77, 

563–66, 569–70, 702–03, 709–11, 722–24, 775–76, 806–09.

19 Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 164; “Airpower in the Gulf War,” 

Air and Space Power Mentoring Guide Essays 2:73 (available online 

at www.cadre.maxwell.af.mil/ar/MENTOR/VOL2/5.pdf). Although the 

F–117s made only 2 percent of the sorties, they accounted for 40 percent of 

the strategic targets struck (Conduct of the Persian Gulf War, 164).

20 For the debate over the effectiveness of the Patriot missiles, see 

Jeremiah D. Sullivan et al., “Technical Debate over Patriot Performance 

in the Gulf War,” Science & Global Security 8 (1999): 40–97 (available 

on-line at http://www.gbhap-us.com/journals/709/patriot/patriot.htm); 

Robert M. Stein, John P. Kantelis, and Peter D. Zimmerman, “Response 

to Science and Global Security Article ‘Technical Debate over Patriot 

Performance in the Gulf War,’” http://www.gbhap-us.com/Patriot_Missile; 

U.S. General Accounting Office, Operation Desert Storm: Data Does 

Not Exist to Conclusively Say How Well Patriot Performed, Report 

B25035 (September 1992); Steven Hildreth, “Evaluation of U.S. Army 

Assessment of Patriot Antitactical Missile Effectiveness in the War Against 

Iraq,” prepared for the House Government Operations subcommittee 

on Legislation and National Security, http://www.fas.org/spp/starwars/

congress/1992_h/h920407h.htm, 7 April 1992. Other reports can be found 

at the Federation of American Scientists website (www.fas.org). 21 DoD, Annual Report, 1992, 6. 22 Good introductions to the RMA and its ramifications for the U.S.

military are James R. Blaker, Understanding the Revolution in Military 

Affairs: A Guide to America’s 21st Century Defense, Progressive Policy 

Institute Defense Working Paper No. 3, January 1997; Theodor W. Galdi, 

Revolution in Military Affairs? Competing Concepts, Organizational 
312 Providing the Means of War

Responses, Outstanding Issues, Congressional Research Service Report to 

Congress, 11 December 1995; and Richard O. Hundley, Past Revolutions, 

Future Transformations: What Can the History of Revolutions in Military 

Affairs Tell Us About Transforming the U.S. Military? RAND Research 

Report MR–1029–DARPA, 1999, http.//www.rand.org/publications/MR/

MR1029. These documents and many others can be found at the website of 

the Project on Defense Alternatives (http://www.comw.org/rma/). This site 

is an excellent source of information, references, and even full-text articles 

and books.

23 William A. Owens, “The Emerging System of Systems,” U.S. Naval 

Institute Proceedings (May 1995), 36–39, also Military Review (May–June 

1995): 15–19; Owens, “The Emerging U.S. System-of-Systems,” National 

Defense University Strategic Forum, no. 63 (February 1996), http://www.

ndu.edu/inss/strforum/forum63.html. 24 “Statement of Admiral William A. Owens, USN (RET),” 12 February 

2001, http://www.senate.gov/~budget/democratic/testimony/2001/owens_

defhrng021201.pdf. 25 Daniel G. Brown, “Revolution in Military Logistics at the Operational 

and Tactical Level,” http://160.150.55.11/TACarchive/Acsumfal99/

MGBrown.htm; Johnnie E. Wilson, John G. Coburn, and Daniel G. Brown, 

“Our Revolution In Military Logistics—Supporting the 21st Century 

Soldier,” http://www.almc.army.mil/alog/JanFeb99/MS%20401.htm. 26 See Gordon R. Sullivan, The Collected Works of the Thirty-Second 

Chief of Staff, United States Army (Washington, D.C.: The Department of 

the Army, 1996); Gordon R. Sullivan and James M. Dubik, Envisioning 

Future Warfare (Fort Leavenworth, Kans.: U.S. Army Command and 

General Staff College Press, 1995).

27 U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Vision 2010.

28 Les Aspin, Report on the Bottom-Up Review (Washington, D.C., 

October 1993); Department of Defense, Report of the Quadrennial Defense 

Review (Washington, D.C., 1997).

29 See Jacques S. Gansler, Defense Conversion: Transforming the 

Arsenal of Democracy (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1995). Numerous other 

studies have also dealt with this issue.

30 Donald A. Hicks, cited in U.S. Department of Defense, Acquisition 

Law Advisory Panel, Streamlining Defense Acquisition Laws: Report . . . to 

the United States Congress, Introduction (January 1993), Defense Technical 

Information Service Report No. AD–A262 699, I–6.

31 Al Gore, From Red Tape to Results: Creating a Government 

that Works Better and Costs Less-Report of the National Performance 

Review (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1993), esp. chapter 3; Steven Kelman, 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 313

“Implementing Federal Procurement Reform,” Spring 1998, http://www.

innovations.Harvard.edu/occasional/kelman.pdf. 32 These figures are from Department of Defense Key Officials, 86–87;

DoD, Annual Report, 1998.

33 DoD, Annual Report, 1994, 108; “Mrs. Colleen A. Preston, Deputy 

Undersecretary of Defense for Acquisition Reform: Executive Profile,”

http://www.acq.osd.mil/ar/text/tpreston.htm; Ken Allard to “Bob,” Defense 

Systems Management College, Acquisition Law Advisory Panel Archive, 

File Ad4.2, “LMI.”

34 Steven Kelman, “Reform Wonk Applies Know-how to PenRen,” 

Federal Computer Week, 5 October 1998, http://www.fcw.com/fcw/

articles/1998/fcw_100598_1190.asp. 35U.S. Department of Defense, Acquisition Reform: A Mandate for 

Change (Washington, D.C.: 9 February 1994), http://www.navsea.navy.mil/

acquisition-reform/man.pdf. 36 DoD, Annual Report, 1995, 101.

37 Ibid., 101–06.

38 DoD, Annual Report, 1997; Ferrara, “DoD’s 5000 Documents,” 

122–24.

39 U.S. Department of Defense, Acquisition Law Advisory Panel, 

Streamlining Defense Acquisition Laws.

40 Federal Acquisition Streamlining Act of 1994, PL 355, 103d Cong., 

2d sess., 13 October 1994. 41 National Defense Authorization for Fiscal Year 1996, PL 106, 104th 

Cong., 2d sess., 10 February 1996, Div. D, secs. 4001–4402. 42 Ibid., Div. E, secs. 5001–5703. 

43 John Stein Monroe, “Reform at Defense,” Federal Computer 

Week, 16 September 1996, http://www.fcw.com/fcw/articles/1996/

FCW_091696_982.asp. The Deskbook can be accessed at http://web2.

deskbook.osd.mil/default.asp. 44 DoD, Annual Report, 1995, 1996, 1997; see also various issues of 

Program Manager Magazine, Acquisition Review Quarterly, Acquisition 

Reform Today, and similar publications, as well as the resources available 

online at http://www.acq.osd.mil. 45 SECNAVINST 5000.2B, ASN(RD&A), 6 December 1996, http://

www.acq-ref.navy.mil/pdf/sn50002b.pdf; “Department of the Navy, 

Acquisition Reform, Acquisition Center of Excellence Catalyst,” 

Implementation of Acquisition Reform Manual, http://www.acq-ref.navy.

mil/implman/cata/cata01.html. 46 For the Air Force Lightning Bolts, see http://www.safaq.hq.af.mil/

acq_ref/bolts99/.
314 Providing the Means of War

47 M. Thomas Davis, “The JROC: Doing What? Going Where?” NSSQ 

(Summer 1998), http://www.Georgetown.edu/sfs/programs/nssp/nssq/

tdavis.pdf. Owens saw his JROC reforms as promoting the adoption of 

RMA ideas; see William A. Owens, “JROC: Harnessing the Revolution in 

Military Affairs,” Joint Forces Quarterly (Summer 1994): 55–57. 

48 DoD, Annual Report, 1994, 137; DoD Annual Report, 1995, 107–10; 

Cate, Where Have All the Prototypes Gone? 14–23. 

49 William Perry, Memorandum for secretaries of the Military 

Departments et al., 29 June 1994, subj: “Specifications & Standards—A

New Way of Doing Business,” http://www.dsmc.dsm.mil/jdam/contents/

perrymemo.htm. 50 James J. Richardson et al., A Review of the Technology Reinvestment 

Project, (Potomac Institute for Policy Studies Report PIPS–99–1, 

Arlington, VA., 30 January 1999); U.S. Department of Defense, Advanced 

Research Projects Agency, Program Information Package for Technology 

Reinvestment Project, FY 95 Competition (Fall 1994).

51 John A. Tirpak, “The Distillation of the Defense Industry,” Air Force 

Magazine 81, no. 7 (July 1998), http://www.afa.org/magazine/0798industry.

html.

52 Bill Clinton and Al Gore, The Blair House Papers, National 

Performance Review, January 1997, available at http://clinton2.nara.gov/

WH/New/html/BOOK.PDF. 53 Jacques Gansler, The Defense Industry (MIT Press, 1980); Affording 

Defense (MIT Press, 1989); idem, Defense Conversion: Transforming the 

Arsenal of Democracy (MIT Press, 1995).

54 “Gansler: DoD in a ‘Death Spiral,’ Program Terminations Likely,” 

Defense Daily, 3 September 1998. 55 This paper is available at http://www.defenselink.mil/pubs/

affordability04091999.pdf. 56 Daniel Verton, “Soloway Tapped to Head Defense Reform Initiative,” 

Federal Computer Week, 5 April 1999, http://www.fcw.com/fcw/

articles/1999/FCW_040599_286.asp. 57 Thompson, Government at the Brink, Vol. I, Urgent Federal 

Government Management Problems Facing the Bush Administration 

(Committee on Governmental Affairs, United States Senate, Washington, 

D.C., June 2001), http:www.senate.gov/~thompson/pr060501.html. 58 Department of Defense Directive 5000.1, “The Defense 

Acquisition System,” 23 October 2000; Department of Defense 

Instruction 5000.2, “Operation of the Defense Acquisition System,” 

23 October 2000; Interim Regulation DoD 5000.2-R, Mandatory 

Procedures for Major Defense Acquisition Programs (MDAPs) and 
defense acquisition in an uncertain world 315

Major Automated Information System (MAIS) Acquisition Programs,” 1 

January 2001.

59 Robert S. Leonard, Jeffrey A. Drezner, and Geoffrey Sommer, The 

Arsenal Ship Acquisition Process Experience: Contrasting and Common 

Impressions from the Contractor Teams and Joint Program Office, 

RAND Report MR-1030-DARPA (RAND, 1999), http://www.rand.org/

publications/MR/MR1030/; Charles S. Hamilton, Arsenal Ship: Lessons 

Learned (Arsenal Ship Joint Program Office, 31 December 1997).

60 “DoD Acquisition and Logistics Excellence Week Kickoff—

Bureaucracy to Battlefield,” remarks delivered by Secretary of Defense

Donald H. Rumsfeld at the Pentagon, 10 September 2001, http://www.

defenselink.mil/speeches/2001/s20010910-secdef.html. 61 Cynthia Ingols and Lisa Brem, Implementing Acquisition Reform: A 

Case Study on Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAM) (Fort Belvoir, Va.: 

Defense Systems Management College, July 1998), http://oamweb.osec.

doc.gov/pbsc/library/JDAMsuccess.pdf. 62 Doug Gardner, “The DII COE: Basic Principles and Future 

Challenges,” CrossTalk: The Journal of Defense Software Engineering 

(October 2001): 10–14, http://www.stsc.hill.af.mil/crosstalk/2001/10/

gardner.pdf; “Plug and Play for the Warfighter,” AdaIC News, Fall 1997, 

http://archive.adaic.com/news/Newsletter/1997/fall/7.htm; “Defense 

Information Infrastructure Common Operating Environment (DII COE),” 

Software Technology Review, Carnegie Mellon University Software 

Engineering Institute, September 2000 (available on-line at www.sei.

cmu.edu/str/descriptions/diicoe.html); Judy Kerner, “Joint Technical 

Architecture: Impact on Department of Defense Programs,” CrossTalk: The 

Journal of Defense Software Engineering (October 2001): 4–5, http://www.

stsc.hill.af.mil/crosstalk/2001/10/kerner.pdf; James Erickson et al., “Impact 

of Joint Technical Architecture on Navy Acquisition,” PM (November–

December 1998): 34–38.

63 Department of Defense Directive 5000.1, “The Defense Acquisition 

System,” 12 May 2003; Department of Defense Instruction 5000.2, 

“Operation of the Defense Acquisition System,” 12 May 2003. See also 

“New Acquisition Policy, 12 May 2003,” briefing by the Center for Program

Management, Defense Acquisition University, 16 May 2003.

64 Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Instruction (CJSCI) 3170.01C, 

“Joint Capabilities Integration and Development System,” 24 June 

2003; Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Manual (CJCSM) 3170.01, 

“Operation of the Joint Capabilities Integration and Development System,” 

24 June 2003. See also “JCIDS 3170,” multimedia briefing located at www.

dau.mil/presentations/JCIDS3170/JCIDS3170.html.

Reducing Acquisition Cycle Time:

Creating a Fast and Responsive Acquisition System

Ross T. McNutt

The Air Force and Department of Defense (DoD) have developed and 

are implementing programs to reduce acquisition response time. Acquisition 

response time is the time the acquisition system uses to take advantage 

of new technology, respond to an emerging threat, or respond to a change 

in military strategy. It is a critical factor in the ability of the Air Force, 

and the military as a whole, to maintain the proper forces with the best 

equipment to counter today’s threats and tomorrow’s uncertainties. The 

ability to respond rapidly to changes and opportunities is key to maintaining 

a long-term, sustainable military advantage that comes with an affordable 

price. Today, for many major defense systems, this response time can 

easily exceed 20 years—hardly a rapid response capability that ensures our 

technological edge and facilitates cost savings. 

The Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program, which was started by 

Art Money (who was then serving as assistant secretary of the Air Force 

for Acquisition), is based largely on the research and recommendations 

of the Lean Aerospace Initiative, a consortium of Massachusetts Institute 

of Technology, Air Force and Department of Defense, and the defense 

industry. Through their cooperation, this coalition of interests has formed a 

solid basis for action. The Air Force program has been conducted in close 

coordination with the Defense Systems Affordability Council’s Cycle Time 

Reduction Task Force, established by the Defense System Affordability 

Council led by Joe Eash, then deputy under secretary of Defense for 

Advanced Technology. Together, these efforts have yielded a dramatic 

change of approach in the acquisition of defense programs and application 

of acquisition reform measures. Due in part to the work of these groups, 

major changes have been made to defense acquisition policy, changes 

incorporated in major rewrites of several key regulations, including DoD 
318 Providing the Means of War

5000 Defense Acquisition System and CJCSI 3170 Requirements Generation 

System. The work of the Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program and 

the Defense Systems Affordability Council also resulted in numerous 

other changes to the process, including evolutionary acquisition and spiral 

development, enhanced schedule-based incentives (for both government 

and contractors), schedule development tools, Cost of Delay Analysis, and 

effective portfolio management.

Collectively, these efforts represent the most effective attack ever made 

on a persistent problem in defense acquisition, namely reducing acquisition 

response times in order to produce effective and efficient acquisition 

systems that can quickly respond to changing threats while taking full 

advantage of new and emerging technologies at an affordable price. It 

continues to be a long and difficult journey to achieve significant cycle time 

reductions, but major steps have already been taken and the path is clear. 

This paper explores the strides made in recent years to make structured 

improvements to the acquisition process in the name of efficiency and 

expediency, and it provides some historical background on the quest for 

cycle time reductions.

Current Acquisition Response Times 

Acquisition response time consists of three components: recognition 

time, decision initiation time, and acquisition cycle time. Recognition time 

is defined as the period from when either military strategy changes, a new 

threat emerges, or a new technology with military potential is developed. 

Recognition time ends when a formal acknowledgement is made that there 

is a need for a new system designed to respond to new threats or exploit a 

new technology. Because of the delays associated with building a consensus 

about strategy, new threats, or new technology in order to promote the 

requirement for a new system, recognition time can increase acquisition 

response time from two to five years. 

Decision initiation time is the period from when the need for a new 

system is recognized until an acquisition project or program is planned, 

funded, and approved. This process can also take from two to five years 

because of the various review procedures associated with starting new 

defense acquisition programs.

Finally, acquisition cycle time is defined as the period from when 

an acquisition project is started until it is available for use by the 

warfighter usually considered to be the initial operating capability (IOC). 

The acquisition cycle time includes the research, development, design, 

prototyping, and manufacturing process development. 
reducing acquisition cycle time 319

Unfortunately, there is little hard data available to show the full duration 

of acquisition response times. Based on Selected Acquisition Report data we 

do know, however, that the acquisition cycle time is increasing. Since the 

1970s, the Air Force’s acquisition cycle time has doubled for major weapon 

systems. Today, the acquisition cycle time—the third and crucial period of 

acquisition response time—averages more than eleven years (Figure 1). 

Because of these delays, DoD and Air Force leadership have taken actions to 

reduce acquisition response time in each of the three periods.

Figure 1: Acquisition Cycle Times for Major Defense Acquisition Programs

Efforts to Shorten Development Times

Although the nomenclature has changed, long acquisition cycle 

times have been a problem since the Revolutionary War when military 

quartermasters were tasked with selecting and procuring equipment 

for the fledgling American army. The problem of getting the right 

military equipment into the hands of the right people has continued to 

the present. The President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense, or 

Packard Commission (1986), cited acquisition cycle times as a central 

Acquisition Response Time

Average Acquisition Cycle Times

(By SAR Reporting Years)

No. of Months 140

120

100

80

60

40

20

0

Program Start to IOC

Air Force

Navy

Army

1969197119731975197719791981198319851987198919911993199519971999

Source: OSD(A&T) SAR Database Current as of Dec 99

ACSC/DEW Major McNutt russ.mcnutt@maxwell.af.mil 1/29/02 Cycletime 21
320 Providing the Means of War

problem from which most acquisition problems stem. Despite this finding, 

however, and the flurry of reform activity that followed the release of the 

Packard Commission report, very little real effort was directed at reducing 

development time. 

Instead, lowering costs was a primary aim of acquisition reform 

efforts in the 1980s and early 1990s. Acquisition initiatives that focused 

primarily on cost included Cost as an Independent Variable (CAIV) 

reviews, the elimination of military specifications and standards to reduce 

development expenses and encourage the use of commercial-off-the-shelf 

(COTS) equipment, the single-process initiative (SPI), the promotion of 

performance-based specifications, calls for clear accountability in design, 

and the manufacturing development initiative.

A few efforts were aimed at shortening acquisition schedules; these 

included the 1983 Affordable Acquisition Approach Study and the 1986 

Packard Commission findings. These efforts are discussed below.

Cycle Time Reduction Efforts in the 1980s

Affordable Acquisition Approach Study

The 1983 Air Force Systems Command Affordable Acquisition 

Approach Study focused on two questions: Are projects taking longer? 

And what can be done about it? The study found that development times 

had increased significantly over the previous thirty years. The study also 

found that the major cause of increased development and production times 

was the overcommitment of resources within the Air Force budget.1 Over 

time, however, the focus of the study shifted, and less attention was given 

to development time. The emphasis on development time decreased as the 

study progressed and is evident in the change of the project’s name from 

its original name as the Accelerated Acquisition Approach Study to the 

Affordable Acquisition Approach Study. Few identifiable actions resulted 

from the study, but the lessons learned from the exercise were not lost 

on the participants. One notable contributor to the study was the TASC, 

Inc., contract leader, Dr. Jacques Gansler, who, in the late 1990s, served 

as the under secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology. In his 

parallel role as the Defense Acquisition Executive in the 1990s, Dr. Gansler 

dedicated considerable time and energy to improving the acquisition system.2

The Packard Commission

Perhaps one of the most widely known reform efforts, the 1986 

Packard Commission looked at the entire defense acquisition process. In 
reducing acquisition cycle time 321

reports released to the public, the commission cited long development 

times as a central problem from which most other acquisition problems 

stem. The Packard Commission’s stark assessment identified problems at 

all levels, from program managers to Congress. Among the commission’s 

major recommendations was a proposal to cut acquisition time in half by 

encouraging DoD to emulate successful commercial firms with worldclass customers. In its Formula for Action report, the Packard Commission 

stated:

Acquisition problems have been with us for several decades, and are becoming 

more intractable with the growing adversarial relationship between government and 

the defense industry, and the increasing tendency of Congress to legislate management solutions. In frustration, many have come to accept the ten to fifteen-year 

acquisition cycle as normal, or even inevitable.

We believe that it is possible to cut this cycle in half. This will require 

radical reform of the acquisition organization and procedures. It will require 

concerted action by the executive branch and Congress, and full support of the 

defense industry. Specifically, we recommend that the administration and the 

Congress join forces to implement the following changes in the defense acquisition system.3

With the bold charge to cut acquisition time in half, strong support from 

the president and Congress, and a quick response by DoD, one would have 

expected dramatic results. However, although DoD implemented many of 

the commission’s recommendations, it did not actively embrace the goal 

of slashing development time. Despite the high profile of the Packard 

Commission and the enthusiasm that marked the release of its findings, 

few people realized that reducing development time was even a significant 

objective identified in the recommendations appearing in the Packard 

Commission reports. 

Cycle Time Reduction Efforts in the Early 1990s 

The focus of recent acquisition reform efforts, at least since the mid–

1980s, was on cutting costs, not reducing development time. Only a few of 

the hundred or so reform initiatives were aimed at reducing development 

times. In 1996, one senior acquisition reform leader told this author that if 

an effort did not directly impact cost, she was simply not interested. Of all 

the acquisition reform efforts that were initiated in the early to mid–1990s, 

only two were direct attempts to address product development time. These 

were the DoD Advanced Concept Technology Demonstrations (ACTDs) 

and the Air Force Acquisition Reform Initiative known as Lightning Bolt 

#10. 
322 Providing the Means of War

Advanced Concept Technology Demonstrations (ACTDs) 

Advanced Concept Technology Demonstrations, an initiative of the 

Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD), were designed to make use of 

readily available technologies to meet pressing military needs. Introduced 

in early 1994, the ACTD program was created to promote the rapid 

development and deployment of matured technologies. Authorized by the 

deputy under secretary of Defense for Advanced Technology and assigned 

to a service or joint sponsor, ACTDs stood as an important bridge between 

the R&D lab and the operator in the field. 

The idea behind the ACTD concept was to allow the warfighting 

community to play a larger role in evaluating a technology’s military utility 

before a service or joint organization committed the resources to underwrite 

a major development effort. OSD expected these demonstration programs 

to last between two and four years. ACTDs were supposed to reduce cycle 

time by allowing the acquisition process to begin at later milestones, such 

as full-scale development (FSD) or subsequent production milestones. 

ACTDs appear to have recently shifted focused to smaller-scale efforts as 

opposed to such system-level efforts such Global Hawk, in part because 

of the funding difficulties involved with transitioning large development 

projects into full-scale development or production. 

AF Lightning Bolt Initiative #10

Just after his 1996 confirmation as assistant secretary of the Air Force 

for Acquisition, Arthur Money began a new initiative to cut the time to 

develop and field new Air Force systems in half. This new initiative, 

identified as Lightning Bolt #10, had an aggressive objective: “[T]he 

time from initial effort by a buying office to satisfy a user’s validated 

requirements (for a new product, services, parts, etc.) until delivery will be 

reduced by 50 percent.”4

However, the initiative’s scope was quickly narrowed to focus on 

cutting the time from receipt of requirements and allocated funds to contract 

award in half without taking into account the time to deliver the product. 

The acquisition community therefore limited the complicating factors and 

focused only on those parts under its control.5

 The objective of the initiative 

was changed to read:

Reduce by 50 percent the amount of time to award contracts that meet our customers’ needs. This time begins with receipt of a validated user requirement and 

funding commitment, and ends with contract award. Lightning Bolt #10 applies to 

efforts to develop and acquire systems, and support their operational readiness.6
reducing acquisition cycle time 323

The Lightning Bolt #10 group conducted interviews with program 

managers and documented a set of best practices and new ideas to reduce 

time to contract award. The Lightning Bolt #10 Team was led by Colonel 

Ben McCarter and overseen by Mrs. Darleen Druyun both in SAF/AQ. 

The Lightning Bolt #10 group disbanded after issuing its report in 1997 

and placing its “tool box” of ideas on the Internet and conducting a series of 

training conferences.

Current Cycle Time Reduction Efforts 

Starting in mid- to late 1990s, there was an increasing awareness of the 

need to reduce acquisition cycle times; a number of efforts undertaken in 

the latter half of the 1990s are still going on. One such program, the Lean 

Aerospace Initiative (LAI), is a consortium involving industry, government, 

and academia, organized to conduct detailed research on the issue of cycle 

times. This effort, and the dramatic reductions in cycle times made by 

the commercial firms in the 1990s, in turn led to the establishment of the 

Defense Systems Affordability Council OSD Cycle Time Reduction Task 

Force and the Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Tiger Team. These efforts 

focused directly on reducing development times.

The Lean Aerospace Initiative (LAI)

The Lean Aerospace Initiative is a consortium of interests led by MIT 

that is intended to reduce the cost, development, and production time for 

military products by half by infusing commercial lean practices throughout 

the defense aerospace industry. Participants in the LAI consortium are 

conducting research in all phases of development and manufacturing, 

including factory operations, supplier relations, and government policy. 

This approach contrasts with most efforts to reduce development time, 

which have tended to focus only on limited aspects of the acquisition 

response times such as contract award time. 

LAI conducted groundbreaking research on the causes and impacts 

of long development times for military systems. In 1997, it published its 

findings and a large number of specific recommendations ranging from 

determining the business case for reducing development time, developing 

tools for effective schedule development, providing schedule-related 

incentives, and using effective project portfolio management practices 

to eliminate funding-based schedule limitations.7

 These findings and 

recommendations were briefed to the Air Force, DoD, and industry 

leadership and were well accepted. The LAI research and recommendations 
324 Providing the Means of War

became the basis for the Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program and the 

solid foundation to support the efforts of the OSD Cycle Time Reduction 

Task Force. 

Air Force and DoD Cycle Time Reduction Programs

In 1998, based in part on the increased awareness of the problem and 

the strength of the MIT research and recommendations, the Air Force and 

DoD established cycle time reduction programs, the first significant efforts 

in many years to address this long-standing problem. The OSD Cycle Time 

Reduction Task Force was established by the Defense Systems Affordability 

Council and championed by Joe Eash in the Office of the Under Secretary 

of Defense for Acquisition and Technology. The Air Force team was 

established by the Senior Business Leadership Group under the supervision 

of Arthur Money (assistant secretary of the Air Force for Acquisition) and 

was run by the Office of the Secretary of the Air Force for Management 

Policy and Program Integration (SAF/AQXA). Both the DoD and Air Force 

groups worked closely together to create a range of programs and major 

policy changes. Because of the solid results of LAI, the Air Force team, 

and the DoD Task Force, an unusual consensus was reached that facilitated 

major policy changes, including substantive rewrites of DoD 5000 Defense 

Acquisition System and the CJCSI 3170 Requirements Generation Systems. 

These rewrites placed an increased emphasis on reducing acquisition cycle 

time. In addition, major steps were taken from building a solid business 

case, developing methods to determine the value of time through Cost 

of Delay Analysis, and enhancing incentives throughout the process, 

developing methods for rapid project initiation such as the Warfighter Rapid 

Acquisition Process. 

Unfortunately, the consensus that promoted these acquisition 

enhancements has since been lost because of the rapid turnover of people 

and the loss of key leadership. While the objective of reducing cycle time is 

still widely known, there does not appear to be a clear path that can be taken 

to achieve it. The OSD team was very fortunate to have the support of such 

leaders as Joe Eash; the efforts were bolstered by strong team leadership 

from John Smith, Tom Perdue, Dr. Joe Ferraro, and Ric Sylvester, all of 

whom were willing and able to push though significant changes. However, 

most of these key figures have left government service. Following their 

departure, the momentum for promoting OSD-level changes to the 

acquisition process was lost.

The Air Force team was equally fortunate to have a highly motivated 

team of people drawn from across the Air Force, all of whom worked hard to 
reducing acquisition cycle time 325

make meaningful changes. Such leaders as Tom Graves of the Aeronautical 

Systems Center, Bill Floyd of the Space and Missile Center, Larry McKee 

of the Aerospace Command and Control Intelligence Surveillance and 

Reconnaissance Center (AC2ISRC) worked tirelessly, leading various teams 

without any significant recognition. The Air Force team was also fortunate to 

have the top-level support of leaders like Lt. Gen. Gregory “Speedy” Martin, 

SAF/AQ, and General Lester L. Lyles, commander of Air Force Materiel 

Command. 

Below is a summary of the work done by the LAI, OSD, and Air Force 

Cycle Time Reduction teams. Their actions and findings are summarized; 

this overview is accompanied by a more detailed description of the Air 

Force Cycle Time Reduction program. In addition to highlighting the results 

obtained by the Air Force team, the section that follows also identifies areas 

where additional work will be required in the future.

Overview of Recent Cycle Time Reduction 

Findings, Efforts, and Results

Impact of Long Acquisition Cycle Times

According to the 1986 Packard Commission report, “the excessively 

long acquisition cycle, ten to fifteen years, is a central problem from which 

most other problems stem. . . . It leads to dated technology in our fielded 

systems, excessive high cost, and the very gold plated requirements that are 

one of its causes.” The most immediately apparent result of long acquisition 

times is the fact that systems are not ready or available when they are 

needed. For example, global positioning system receivers for troops, 

tanks, and aircraft and JTID terminals and Low Altitude Navigation and 

Targeting Infrared for Night (LANTIRN) pods for fighter aircraft had been 

in development for a considerable time prior to Operation Desert Storm, 

but these systems were not widely available for use in the field when the 

conflict began. Although it is difficult to measure the real cost of delays 

attributable to long acquisition cycles, not having advanced equipment in 

the right hands is always a missed opportunity with potentially disastrous 

implications for the warfighter. 

Because of the length of acquisition cycles, obsolete and outdated 

technology is often fielded as parts of new systems that languished in 

development are finally introduced. For instance, many new weapons 

systems have computer processors that are very slow by contemporary 

standards, even though only a few years may have passed since the system 
326 Providing the Means of War

first went into production. Systems with obsolescent computer components 

are expensive and difficult to maintain, and require suppliers and vendors 

to maintain stocks of old parts, often at great expense to the government. 

Shortening the acquisition cycle will mitigate some of this problem; 

the rapid advance of technology, especially in the electronics field, will 

always confound acquisition program managers.8

 But increasing the rate 

of development, production, and fielding may well reduce some of the 

inefficiencies associated with this kind of system obsolescence. 

Finally, long development times significantly increase both 

development costs and sustainment costs. Data collected by MIT shows that 

development costs increase exponentially with planned development time. 

MIT studies also show that the longer a project spends in development, the 

higher percentage of the total systems cost is used to develop the project. As 

a result, less money is available to produce the product for the warfighter. 

MIT’s research also shows that the longer a project is in development, the 

more likely it is that funding problems and leadership changes will threaten 

its stability.

In sum, long system development times translate to higher sustainment 

costs. Lengthy cycle times result in a kind of vicious cycle, wherein it takes 

longer to replace high maintenance systems, and the replacement systems 

that are ultimately produced cost more to maintain because of spare parts 

shortages that may begin before the system even reaches the field. 

The Commercial Example

Many commercial firms have recognized the advantages of responding 

quickly to customer needs; model firms identify those needs early and 

are quick to create products or services that meet existing and emerging 

client requirements. In recent decades, industries as diverse as aerospace, 

automotive, chemical, and consumer manufacturing have reduced 

their product development times by 50 percent to 70 percent. Shorter 

development times have yielded higher quality products at lower cost 

that better match the customers’ needs. Quick and efficient development 

processes have also facilitated an explosion in the number of products 

available to consumers. 

Many industries closely associated with the defense industry have 

achieved these reductions. For instance, development times for automobiles 

decreased markedly during the past twenty years. In the late 1980s, 

automakers took an average of eighty-four months to bring a new car to 

market. Today, the same process takes about twenty-four months. The 

same trend can be seen in civilian aircraft development. Previously, new 
reducing acquisition cycle time 327

commercial aircraft took about eight years to develop. Contemporary 

aircraft, such as the Boeing 777, were fielded in less than five years. 

Boeing’s current goal for new aircraft development projects is two and 

one-half years. Commercial satellites that once took eight or more years to 

develop are now completed much faster. Today, such companies as Hughes 

can go from contract award to on-orbit operations in as little as eighteen to 

twenty-four months. 

Shorter development times allow these companies to decide how to 

compete with competitors rather then being in a reactive mode. Firms that 

can respond faster can include newer technologies, incorporate more current 

marketing information, and respond to a competitor’s products faster. The 

results can be dramatic, yielding either higher profits or increased market 

share. According to Kim Clark, the dean of the Harvard Business School 

and an author on product development practices, rapid product development 

capability is the key to a company’s long-term sustainable competitive 

advantage.9

What Drives Long Military Acquisition Cycle Times?

MIT Lean Aerospace Initiative research on 320 defense projects 

identified what drives long acquisition response times.10 Although the 

recognition time and decision time can be long, the research identified 

the acquisition cycle time, and in particular the product development 

time, as the longest period in determining the acquisition response 

time. Despite the fact that 80 percent of the users or clients surveyed 

indicated that their project’s end product was needed immediately, and 70 

percent of the projects reviewed were needed to meet current operational 

deficiencies, the research showed that the schedule was most often rated 

by project managers as the fourth of four project objectives, far below 

performance, development cost, or operational cost. An analysis of the 

research data showed the tremendous impact of the government’s initial 

project schedule on the contractor and the resulting development time. 

The primary determinants of the government initial project schedule 

were found to be the expected development and production funding rates 

and not the development-related requirements of the project, such as 

technology development, engineering requirements, or manufacturing 

process development. The research showed that schedule-based information 

or tools were rarely used to develop a program offices’ initial schedule.

The initial government schedule, however, is the basis from which 

the contractors build their proposed schedules. Project managers reported 

that 80 percent of the requests for proposals (RFPs) specified an expected 
328 Providing the Means of War

schedule to the contractors. Contractors report that the government’s 

expected schedule is by far the dominant factor in determining their 

proposed schedules. Some 66 percent of contractors surveyed stated it 

was the sole determinant of their proposed schedule. In a vast majority of 

project proposals, the contractors proposed schedules that exactly match the 

government expected schedule. Contractors state that to do otherwise “is 

not a winning strategy.” 

The research further showed that there were few incentives (if any) and 

significant barriers for both the government and contractors to accelerate 

projects once under contract. For this reason, few projects have ever been 

accelerated, and many projects slip their schedules. Project managers and 

program element monitors estimate that if properly funded and schedule 

were considered a high priority, the average project could be completed 

in 50 percent to 65 percent of the scheduled time. The research showed 

that these factors were consistent across programs of all size, all levels of 

technological advances, and all different types of systems. 

Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program

The Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program is aimed at reducing the 

response times of acquisition efforts. The program consists of three phases: 

building awareness, building the necessary infrastructure, and addressing 

the systemic constraints. The Air Force Cycle Time Reduction action plan 

was approved by General Lyles, then vice chief of staff of the Air Force, 

and is the basis for a wide range of reform and process improvement 

actions. 

As discussed earlier, there are actions aimed at each of the key phases 

of acquisition response time: recognition time, decision initiation time, 

and acquisition cycle times. Recognition time is being shortened through 

use of innovation-oriented activities such as experimentation, Battlelabs, 

ACTDs, and Science and Technology (S&T) efforts. Following up on a 

Corona-level effort to select quickly and fund the successful results of 

these innovation activities, the decision/Initiation time problematic for the 

most urgent projects is being addressed through an effort by SAF/AQ. To 

shorten the longest period of acquisition response time, the acquisition 

cycle time, the Air Force is undertaking a wide range of actions ranging 

from promoting evolutionary acquisition and spiral development, making 

changes to established requirement processes, enhancing incentives (for 

both contractors and government representatives), developing effective 

scheduling tools, and increasing effectiveness of the project portfolio 

management. Below is a summary of the Air Force program. Many of 
reducing acquisition cycle time 329

these efforts were and are conducted in close coordination with and directly 

supported by the OSD Cycle Time Reduction Task Force. 

Phase I—Building Awareness

The first phase of the cycle reduction program focused on building 

the case for reducing cycle times, correcting the requirements process to 

account for time, building an understanding of the processes involved in 

making positive changes to the system, and establishing general goals for 

various types of systems. Based on acceptance of leadership and large parts 

of the OSD and Air Force bureaucracies of the need to shorten development 

times, Phase I can be called a success. 

Cycle Time Reduction Business Case

The Air Force team built a business case that highlighted the effects 

of long acquisition cycles on the warfighter, the acquisition community, 

the budget, and the sustainment community. Based on MIT’s research, the 

business case described, with specific examples, the impact of equipment 

not being available to the warfighter in time, the impact of dated or 

obsolescent technology built into newly fielded equipment, and the 

impact on operational performance of our systems. The Air Force team’s 

case study also examined the business aspects of acquisition cycles, 

including how development costs increased exponentially as the planned 

development time increased, and how cost and schedule overruns tended 

to increase dramatically with long development times. The case also 

detailed the impact of multiple changes of leadership at the OSD and Air 

Force levels, as well as the role of program office staffs in the success of 

the development program. The Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Business 

Case was developed into a briefing and presented as a central part of the 

PEO/SYSCOM conference in fall of 1999 by Joe Eash of OSD. Eash also 

presented the briefing to the senior leadership of the other Department 

of Defense services, a number of major OSD organizations, and several 

congressional staffs. This business case was instrumental in changing the 

attitude about acquisition cycle time and identifying it as a significant issue 

worthy of additional attention from the Defense Department’s leadership. 

Cost of Delay Analysis

Although a generalized business case advertised the importance of the 

cycle time reduction issue, another tool had to be developed to measure 
330 Providing the Means of War

the actual impact of cycle time on specific systems. To accomplish this, 

the Air Force team worked closely with Don Reinertsen of Reinertsen 

and Associates, a leading commercial product development consultancy, 

to adapt his commercial-application Cost of Delay Analysis method to 

evaluate defense products.11 Cost of Delay Analysis allows one to determine 

the value of time on a project and compare it to the impacts of development 

cost, production cost, and system performance. After a review of hundreds 

of commercial projects, Reinertsen found that the value of time was not 

intuitive to members of development teams. Often, people working on the 

same project had factors of fifty to eighty differences in their perceived 

value of time. Disparities of this magnitude lead to poor and conflicting 

project decisions and an inability of project leaders to make effective 

schedule-related trades and compromises. The Air Force team found 

similar results after a review of Air Force projects. Cost of Delay Analysis 

provided the team with an analytical framework leading to a firm measure 

of the value of reducing time. The method also highlighted the importance 

of tactical decision rules that can be applied by those associated with the 

project. This provides a basis for making cost, schedule, and performance 

tradeoffs, developing of schedule related incentives, and tradeoffs between 

various projects within a product development portfolio. The Air Force has 

demonstrated the use of Cost of Delay Analysis on defense programs and 

has developed training to implement the analysis on Air Force programs. 

Acquisition Processes Changes—Acquisition Process Modeling

Analyzing and modeling the Air Force and DoD product development 

process was essential to understanding what drives long cycle times. The 

“front end” of the Air Force product development process includes the 

modernization planning process, the requirements process, the funding 

process, and the acquisition approval process. After a thorough review 

and with the aid of process maps, the Air Force cycle time team found that 

the official process included twenty-four separate reviews by the various 

requirements, budget, and acquisition communities necessary to start a 

project within the Air Force Headquarters alone. That assumes everything is 

successful the first attempt and within a single budget year.

 This process, when followed, could add two to five years to the time to 

initiate a development project. Research conducted by MIT’s Lean Aerospace 

Initiative found some processes that appeared to be disconnected. As an 

example, one mission area plan identified 673 projects to undertake. Of these, 

seventy-two made it into a major command submission, and none made it 

into the Air Force POM.12 MIT also found that senior leadership shortened 
reducing acquisition cycle time 331

the process 42 percent of the time by directing projects to be initiated, an 

indication of their frustration with the process. Modeling the acquisition 

process was a key to understanding the issues involved and how to address 

them. 

Warfighter Rapid Acquisition Process (WRAP)

In order to develop a rapid method to approve the initiation of projects, 

the Air Force developed Warfighter Rapid Acquisition Process (WRAP). 

Modeled on a successful Army program, the WRAP process integrates 

the requirements, acquisition, and funding approval processes for projects 

into a single sixty-day Integrated Headquarters Review. Projects are 

competitively selected based on their value and cost of delay. The rapid 

approval process combined with execution-year transition fund allows 

for a limited number of highly successful demonstrated projects to clear 

the initiation process in sixty days as opposed to the two to five years it 

currently takes. The Air Force demonstrated the use of WRAP in 2000 

and is implemented the full WRAP process in September 2001. The Air 

Force WRAP program is funded for transition funding of projects at $25 

million to $30 million per year across the fiscal year. The WRAP process 

was explicitly designed to be expandable to incorporate all smaller ACAT 

III-sized programs vastly simplifying the efforts required to initiate new 

development efforts while establishing a competitive selection/screening 

process between projects. 

Evolutionary Acquisition/Spiral Development

Through this analysis the Air Force and DoD identified the necessity 

for evolutionary acquisition strategies and the ability to deliver capability 

incrementally and modify systems to meet current needs. The Air Force 

established the Evolutionary Acquisition Reinvention Team led by Tom 

Graves of the Air Force Aeronautical Systems Center that developed a 

guide to assist project managers and MAJCOMs in the application of 

evolutionary acquisition strategies for weapon systems acquisition.13 The 

DoD Cycle Time Reduction Team efforts led to the significant rewrite 

of DoD 5000, which now calls for evolutionary acquisition to be the 

primary approach for acquisition of major defense systems. Based in part 

on the efforts of the Air Force and DoD cycle time reduction teams, the 

evolutionary acquisition approach has been adopted by the Joint Strike 

Fighter Program, and the spiral development approach has been adopted by 

the Global Hawk UAV program.
332 Providing the Means of War

Requirements Processes Changes—Requirements Generation and Approval 

Streamlining: HAF 2000 Requirements Reengineering Team 

It averaged 463 days for the Air Force and DoD to approve a mission 

needs statement or requirements document. The average Air Force 

requirement officer developed a single requirements document during 

his or her career. The Air Force established a headquarters level team 

led by Colonel Tom Kelly to shorten the requirements generation and 

approval process. The Requirements Reengineering Team found ways to 

streamline the requirements generation process and develop a core group 

of requirements officers to speed the process. The team’s recommendations 

were approved by the CORONA conference and Air Force leadership and 

are being implemented. 

Time-Based/Time-Phased Requirements

During Phase I, the Air Force team developed concepts to change 

the requirements process to account for the impact of time and to support 

evolutionary acquisition practices. The Air Force team developed the 

concepts of time-based and time-phased requirements that specified user’s 

needs over time (time-based) to meet their operational requirements and 

the matching of those needs with the available technology and systems 

development requirements with the acquisition community in a phased 

manner (time-phased). This allows the system requirements to be defined 

to allow effective evolutionary development of a system. This approach 

would allow for phasing of the capability, cost schedule and performance 

tradeoffs, and matching the budget and the technology over time while fully 

allowing for the flexibility in future blocks to allow for changes as they 

arose. The Air Force included a portion of this approach in its requirements 

regulation during an update in 1998. 

The opportunity arose to include the support of evolutionary 

acquisition in the requirements process as part of the Section 912 Studies. 

With the support of DoD Cycle Time reduction team leadership, the portion 

of the Section 912 Study on Acquisition and Requirements lead by Dr. 

Joe Ferraro and Ric Sylvester developed a coordinated position on timebased and time-phased requirements. Time-based requirements and 

time-phased requirements are now included as part of CJCSI 3170, the 

regulation governing the requirements generation process and part of 

the DoD 5000 the Defense Acquisition System regulation. Time-based 

and time-phased requirements will be required in all future requirements 

documents. 
reducing acquisition cycle time 333

Science and Technology and Transition Planning Changes—Innovation 

Activities

The Air Force has a wide range of innovation activities aimed at 

identifying an array of solutions to Air Force needs. Air Force activities 

include Advanced Technology Demonstrations (ATDs), Advanced Concept 

Technology Demonstrations, Air Force Battlelabs, Joint Expeditionary 

Force Experiments, and warfare centers. These efforts identify new and 

innovative uses of commercial and defense technologies and evaluate their 

use in realistic scenarios. These efforts help reduce the recognition time.

Transition Planning

The U.S. scientific community develops many technologies and 

solutions to the military’s needs. Unfortunately too few of these make it to 

warfighters in a timely manner. One aspect is the lack of transition planning 

and preparations to enter the acquisition system or to be directly fielded. 

Effective transition planning can help speed and ensure smooth transition 

into the acquisition systems or directly to the work force. Following the 

successful completion of an experiment that has proven successful is 

too late to start thinking of the how to transition and field a capability. 

The Air Force AC2ISRC has developed a Transition Planning Guide to 

assist ACTDs, ATD, experiments and other innovation activities to ensure 

adequate transition planning at the appropriate time in order to speed 

transition once complete. Transition planning assists in reducing decision 

and initiation time. 

Phase II—Building Infrastructure

The process of change is currently in Phase II with efforts being carried 

out across the Air Force. This phase builds the necessary infrastructure 

within the acquisition community to support and execute shorter 

development times. 

The Air Force Schedule Incentives Reinvention Team lead by Bill 

Floyd of the Air Force Space and Missile Center is determining how 

to best enhance and correct the current schedule-related incentives for 

both contractors and government employees. To be effective, contractor 

incentives must work both during the source selection and once on contract. 

The Schedule Incentives Team has developed a range of recommendations 

for enhancing both government and contractor incentives to shorten 

development time where and when appropriate. The Schedule Incentives 
334 Providing the Means of War

Team, in conjunction with the Schedule Tools Team, has developed the Air 

Force Guide to Developing and Managing Air Force Schedules. 

Schedule Development and Evaluation Tools

The Air Force Schedule Development and Evaluation Tools Reinvention 

Team is led by Aeronautical Systems Center. This team is determining if 

or what type of schedule development and evaluation tools are required 

to develop and evaluate appropriate project schedules. These tools when 

developed will assist program office and the planners determine realistic 

schedules for planning purposes, and will allow program offices to assess the 

risk and value of a contractors’ proposed schedule. Some of the new tools 

being evaluated by the team include Theory of Constraints and Critical Chain 

Scheduling developed by Dr. Eli Goldratt. A pilot project is underway on the 

F–22 finishing program and the Avionics Flight Test Program. 

Building Awareness

Phase II also looks at increasing awareness of the impacts of long 

cycle times and the efforts underway in order to build support across the 

warfighter, workforce, and industry communities for the difficult but 

necessary steps required during Phase III. These are planned to include 

symposia and training to increase awareness of the issues and demonstrate 

leadership commitment to achieving the results. 

Phase III—Removing Systemic Constraints

Implementation of Phase III has not begun, and the specific steps for 

Phase III are in development. Research is being undertaken as to how to 

best implement the necessary changes. Below is a sample of the action 

necessary.

Project Portfolio Management

Phase III requires the obvious funding-based limitations to be 

addressed. Today 80 percent of projects report that their project schedules 

are limited by the available funding and not by the engineering or technical 

requirements. Many commercial firms suffer from the same problems. 

Classic signs in the commercial industry of less-than-optimal development 

portfolio management are many projects are late or behind schedule, 

quantities expected to be sold are not met, and requirements are changed 
reducing acquisition cycle time 335

late in the development cycle. There are considerable similarities with 

the experience on Defense projects. Commercial firms have addressed 

these issues using several methods; the most central is to require that all 

development projects be fully funded based on their development-related 

requirements. 

In order to do this, a company must limit the number of projects in the 

development pipeline to the number it can effectively support and execute 

in an efficient and effective manner using the resources available. Properly 

funding projects that are in development makes the development process 

more efficient and results in significantly more products being complete 

over time. This is accomplished though the use of a development funnel 

with strict phases and gates that allow only the highest payoff projects 

through and limits the number of projects in each phase of development. 

Within the Air Force we must also find a way to remove the systemic 

barriers to shortening schedules based on funding constraints. 

Planning, Programming, and Budgeting Process

Changes to the funding processes for development projects must be 

considered. The current processes encourage partial or minimal funding 

of many projects resulting in less than optimal funding for most projects. 

Alternatives exist in commercial and other countries’ defense acquisition 

systems. Milestone funding or full capital funding of development 

programs would ensure that the necessary funds would be available but 

would require a significant change in the budgeting approach. Capital 

funding of development projects would ensure funds are available to 

accelerate projects as opportunities arise and would significantly simplify 

the Planning Programming and Budgeting System as projects would meet 

the budget process only at a milestone review. 

Workforce Training 

An essential part of Phase II is training the workforce and spreading and 

maintaining the necessary skills to achieve the cycle time objectives. The 

Air Force is currently developing a set of initial courses that will provide 

training on all aspects of the Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program. 

This, however, is only the start. Long-term training programs must be 

established to provide Air Force acquisition personnel and future leaders 

with the best business practices being developed across all industries. Much 

as the technology changes, so do acquisition and product development 

practices. Just as industry does, the military must continue to train its future 
336 Providing the Means of War

leaders and work force. The recommendations include sending twenty-five 

field grade officers a year to the top five business schools to learn about best 

product development practices. These officers would become leaders of the 

acquisition community.

Pilot and Demonstrations

The Air Force plan calls for transformational pilot programs to 

demonstrate the implementation of these efforts. Pilot programs are to be 

on a project level to demonstrate specific skills and practices and also on 

a portfolio level to demonstrate the synergistic effects across a range of 

products and product lines. These pilots have not been identified but efforts 

have been undertaken through efforts such as the C2 Acquisition Agility 

Study to determine how to implement the practices across an entire class of 

products or product development center. Efforts are underway to determine 

projects and initiatives to demonstrate the partial and full implementation of 

the Air Force Cycle Time Reduction Program. 

Summary

A focus on acquisition response time is critical to the effort to make a 

faster and more responsive acquisition system that can field new technology 

quickly, respond rapidly to changing threats, and accommodate changes 

in our national military strategy. This is key to maintaining a long-term 

sustainable competitive advantage at an affordable price. The path to 

achieving the capability to develop and field high-quality systems rapidly 

will not be easy. It will require significantly more than just inputs and 

recommendations from the acquisition community to achieve these goals; 

direct intervention on the part of senior defense leaders is necessary. The 

programs described in this paper demonstrate that there is a commitment 

among acquisition professionals and senior DoD officials to promote 

changes to the acquisition system. As such, we have started down the right 

path, but we still have a long way to go. It is, however, a journey that we 

must take.
reducing acquisition cycle time 337

Notes

1

 Air Force Systems Command, Affordable Acquisition Approach, 

Andrews AFB, Md., 1983. 2

 Dr. Jacques S. Gansler worked for TASC, Inc., from 1977 until 1997, 

when he was appointed to the position of under secretary of Defense for 

Acquisition and Technology. According to DoD Directive 5134.1, the under 

secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology is required to serve as 

the Defense Acquisition Executive with “full responsibility for supervising 

the performance of the DoD acquisition system.” Prior to assuming these 

responsibilities, Dr. Gansler served in a number of other key government 

acquisition positions, including deputy assistant secretary of Defense 

for Material Acquisition and assistant director of Defense Research and 

Engineering (Electronics).

3

 President’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Defense Management, A 

Formula for Action, A Report to the President on Defense Acquisition 

(April 1986), 15. 4

 Air Force Acquisition Reform Online newsletter, March/April 1996. 5

 Personal discussion with Col. Ben McCarter, Lightning Bolt 10 

Leader, 13 June 1996.

6

 Air Force Acquisition Reform Online newsletter, June/July 1996. 7 Ross T. McNutt, “Reducing DoD Product Development Time: The 

Role of the Schedule Development Process” (Ph.D. diss., Massachusetts 

Institute of Technology, 1999).

8 Neither the problem nor possible solutions are new to the acquisition 

community: “How can a program manager reconcile the fact that, while 

his weapon systems may have a life cycle measured in decades, important 

elements of that weapon system, especially the electronics subsystems, are 

being rendered obsolete, through the rapid advance of technology, every 

three or four years?” See Carroll Eugene Garrison, “Technological Progress 

in Electronic Components: A Life Cycle Support Problem,” Defense 

Systems Management Review 1 (Winter 1976): 25–37.

9

 See Steven Wheelwright and Kim Clark, Revolutionizing Product 

Development: Quantum Leaps in Speed, Efficiency, and Quality (New York: 

Free Press, 1992).

10 McNutt, “Reducing DoD Product Development Time.” 11 Donald Reinertsen is a product development consultant and the 

author (with Preston G. Smith) of Developing Products in Half the Time: 

New Rules and Tools (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1991). He also wrote 

Managing the Design Factory (New York: Free Press, 1997). Both are bestselling product development books.
338 Providing the Means of War

12 Results of LAI research conducted by Robb Wirthlin presented to 

the LAI Executive Forum in Groton, Conn., 1999. Joseph Robert Wirthlin, 

“Best Practices in Users Needs/Requirements Generation” (master's thesis, 

Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2000), http://www.lean.mit.edu. 13 Draft Air Force Evolutionary Acquisition Guide available on-line in 

draft form at http://www.safaq.hq.af.mil/acq_ref/cycletime.
The Transition Dilemma: Research and 

Development in the 1990s 

Mark L. Montroll

As the decade of the 1990s began, the Berlin Wall was down, the 

Warsaw Pact was dissolved, the United States and its allies were preparing 

for Operation Desert Storm, and the American people were beginning to 

give some consideration to what their national security infrastructure should 

look like in the post-Cold War era. In 1990, President George H. W. Bush 

gave a speech in Aspen, Colorado, in which he introduced the concept of 

“reconstitution” as a pillar of his defense policy. In his Year 2000 National 

Security Strategy, President Bush codified reconstitution as a specific 

strategic policy. Reconstitution—defined as rebuilding military forces to 

“guard against a major reversal in Soviet intentions” and protect American 

interests from other emerging global threats—lasted only until 1994, when 

President Bill Clinton issued his own National Security Strategy, effectively 

removing reconstitution as a formal policy goal of the United States.1

The National Security Strategies adopted by both presidents were born of 

uncertainty, the non-specific but very real dangers of global instability, and 

the need to sustain fighting forces capable of defending diverse interests. 

Advanced technology played an important role in the defense strategies 

promoted by both presidents, and techniques used to support defense 

research and development were influenced in part by circumstances that 

followed the end of the Cold War. 

During the military buildup of the 1980s, defense research experienced 

a sustained period of stability and importance. While the overall defense 

procurement budget grew to unprecedented levels during this period, defense 

research programs grew modestly, but gained enormously in stature, in part 

because of the high-profile role of new and exciting technologies being 

developed for emerging weapon systems. As procurement budgets grew, 

more and more acquisition programs were established, many drawing on 
340 Providing the Means of War

new technologies under development in ongoing research programs. In many 

cases, because research programs did not grow commensurate with stated 

procurement objectives, research budgets were inadequate to keep up with 

the demands of acquisition programs. Since there were so many different 

acquisition programs running simultaneously, however, a technological 

discovery or development could usually find a procurement program in an 

appropriate stage of its development cycle to accept insertion of the latest 

technological development.

But by the end of the 1980s, the environment was changing 

dramatically. As Cold War threats subsided, acquisition budgets were 

slashed and procurement programs were delayed, reduced in scope, 

consolidated with other programs, or simply cancelled outright. The 

Reagan-era bonanza was followed by austerity and uncertainty in 

defense spending; a consequence of this new fiscal reality was that fewer 

procurement programs were being funded, and those that were funded were 

often severely reduced in scope. Hobbled by smaller budgets, advanced 

technology programs suffered. Because research programs were at least 

anecdotally assessed as to how well they support ongoing procurements, 

this environment created dilemmas for both researchers and policymakers: 

Should research continue to be funded at current levels in order to support 

a research base capable of achieving real technological advancements, 

even though these advancements may not be incorporated into ongoing 

procurements as a result of time-phase or budget mismatches? And, if 

research funding continued to flow, what measures of merit or standards 

could be used to evaluate technologies that were not incorporated into 

fielded military systems? Should the Department of Defense subsidize 

innovations that had no immediate application to military weapon systems? 

These policy questions dominated the scene during the 1990s. 

The Defense Department and military services developed numerous 

means for dealing with them. This paper explores some of the more 

significant programs established to sustain a credible defense research 

and development infrastructure and to ensure strong linkages between 

technological research and the military operations that defense research 

programs are supposed to support.

Defense Research and Development Processes in the 1990s

In 2000, Dr. Delores M. Etter, deputy under secretary of Defense for 

Science and Technology, noted that “the mission of the defense science and 

technology program is to ensure that warfighters today and tomorrow have 

superior and affordable technology to support their missions and to provide 
the transition dilemma 341

revolutionary capabilities.”2

 This emphasis on “revolutionary capabilities” 

reflects the tectonic shifts that fundamentally altered the American political 

and social landscape in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Traditional 1980s 

management techniques were not effective tools for managing science 

and technology programs in the 1990s. First, the Cold War had effectively 

ended, resulting in a significant reduction in defense procurements; and 

second, the ongoing digital technological revolution—which was moving 

at a breathtaking speed—was beginning to shape social and cultural 

expectations. It was not unheard of for computer technology to improve 

so rapidly that, by the time computer systems were ordered and delivered, 

the “new” equipment was already obsolete if measured by commercial 

standards. The speed with which digital technology improved often caused 

paralysis among defense decision-makers who were unwilling to commit 

resources to defense-related technology development projects that might 

be outpaced by civilian industry. For the defense acquisition community, 

this meant that not only were there fewer platform and major system 

procurements to transition technological advances into, in many cases, these 

technological advances were occurring so rapidly that even when they were 

successfully transferred, they were obsolete by the time the systems into 

which they were embedded were delivered to the operational forces.

In order to overcome these constraints, three significant transition 

processes were introduced during the 1990s. First, in the early 1990s, 

Advanced Technology Demonstrations (ATDs) were established and 

managed by the individual services in order to identify and demonstrate 

technologies that might not yet be fully mature, but showed great promise 

to effectively serve urgent operational needs. In 1994, a second approach, 

the Advanced Concept Technology Demonstrations (ACTD) program, 

was introduced by the Department of Defense to “allow users to gain 

an understanding of proposed new capabilities for which there is no 

user experience base.”3

 Finally, toward the end of the decade (in 1998), 

the Joint Staff established Joint Experimentation Programs to allow 

operational forces to experiment with novel technological advances in order 

to compress the time required to field advanced capabilities. This process 

provided a means for rapidly getting technological advances into the hands 

of the fighting forces even before initiation of formal procurement actions.

At the policy level, three broad issues tended to dominate the decade: 

reconstitution, develop and hold, and acquisition reform. At first, the 

implementation and ramifications of a broad reconstitution policy set the 

research agenda. How could the research infrastructure be shaped so that 

future military systems would retain an enduring technological edge, even 

as the force structure and its supporting elements were being reduced? An 
342 Providing the Means of War

answer to this question was a policy recommendation that the United States 

continue to develop advanced military systems, bringing them completely 

through the concept and development phase—in fact, all the way up until the 

actual full-scale procurement phase. Once ready for full-scale procurement, 

the program would be shelved and the system procurement package would 

wait until some point in the future when pressing operational requirements 

would necessitate actual procurement. This proposed policy was the source 

of numerous debates. Neither the operational forces nor the research 

communities felt it was an optimum solution. 

From these debates, a second policy issue emerged: How could the 

research infrastructure, the kernel of some future reconstitution phase, 

be preserved if current requirements and budgets couldn’t support its 

continuing operations? The formal policy of not only encouraging but 

actually mandating technology transfer emerged as the most promising 

solution to this issue. Over time, however, it appeared that depending on 

nondefense organizations to support the defense research infrastructure 

was not going to be a viable policy. Toward the end of the decade, 

acquisition reform took hold as the formal process for rapidly linking 

advanced research developments and emerging operational requirements. 

Under acquisition reform, the acquisition process was transformed from 

a linear sequence of developing, procuring, creating operational doctrine, 

and training forces to use system to a nonlinear concurrent process of 

developing system and doctrine together, procuring and training together. 

This approach decreased the time from concept identification to actual 

field operation.

To understand how the transition processes (akin to a weaver’s weft) 

and the policy issues (weaver’s warp) were woven together to create 

the research fabric of the 1990s, it is useful to first look at each of them 

individually and then show how they were integrated.

The Weft: Technology Transition Processes

Advanced Technology Demonstrations (ATDs)

In the early 1990s, the defense research community faced a difficult 

and unforeseen challenge. Basic and early applied research programs were 

being reduced in scope or eliminated just as they were reaching maturity. 

During the mid–1980s, many new research programs were started or old 

ones enhanced as a result of the strong defense buildup of the time. By 

the early 1990s, many of these programs were just reaching the point 

of fruition but had not yet fully matured, when their fiscal support was 
the transition dilemma 343

degraded or eliminated. As promising as new and emerging technologies 

might be, it was becoming more difficult for program managers to show 

how the fully developed technologies could transition into ongoing 

procurement programs. Without the ability to show a clear transition path, 

it was feared that even great research programs would be canceled. The 

ATD process was established to preserve these programs in the face of this 

risk.

Every service allocated a percentage of its annual research budget to 

fund a few of the most promising ATDs. The larger purpose of the ATD 

process was to identify the most promising technological advancements 

being made among the ongoing service research programs and fully fund 

those programs for three years in order to promote their rapid development. 

Each service devised its own method for selecting which programs would 

be funded as ATDs. All of the services required a firm link be established 

between the researchers and potential users of the technology in order for 

a program to qualify for ATD funding. It was often the case that a program 

would only be funded as an ATD if a manager of an ongoing acquisition 

program was willing to commit to use the technology at the end of the ATD 

program, provided it lived up to its expectations. 

An approved ATD typically lasted about three years and received 

funding of around $15 million. Since the ATD approach was introduced, 

there have been many successful transitions from ATDs to system 

procurements. Because of the instability of the overall defense procurement 

budgets, however, some of the ATDs that proved successful as research 

programs were never fully integrated into procurement programs. 

Researchers were encouraged to meet with acquisition program sponsors 

and operating forces to examine how advancements in technology could 

serve the needs of the operating forces. This kind of dialog went a long way 

to helping reshape many ongoing research programs to be more responsive 

to emerging operational requirements even if the proposed ATDs were not 

approved for funding.

The ATD process was quite successful in achieving its original 

objectives; however, over time, it became difficult for the process to keep 

up with the rapidly escalating pace of commercial technology development. 

Although $15 million is a large sum of money for some research programs, 

as computer technology, communications and data fusion and processing 

technologies grew during the 1990s, it became clear that the ATD process 

could not fully support advances in these areas. Also, as commercial 

enterprises matured these technologies without government sponsorship, 

the Defense Department began looking for way to capture these new 

concepts and demonstrate their utility for defense-related requirements.
344 Providing the Means of War

Advanced Concept Technology Development (ACTD)

The Advanced Concept Technology Demonstration (ACTD) 

program was introduced in early 1994 by the Department of Defense in 

order to help encourage and expedite the rapid transition of emerging 

matured technologies from the research and development community 

to the operational user. Technologies proposed for incorporation into an 

ACTD were required to be sufficiently matured that they could be readily 

evaluated at in operational environments. Therefore, they “should not be 

in the 6.1 (basic research) or 6.2 (applied research) budget categories. 

Furthermore, the technologies must have been successfully demonstrated 

at the subsystem or component level and at the required performance 

level prior to the start of the ACTD.”4

 Since the ACTD process focused on 

matured technologies, it emphasized technology assessment and integration 

over technology development. Nonetheless, it served as an interim step 

from the research lab to the operational field. 

A typical ACTD lasts for around four years and operates on a budget of 

approximately $100 million. A significant feature of an ACTD is that it has 

some level of jointness built into it. The concept an ACTD is demonstrating 

must contribute to the mission of more than one service. In fact, each of the 

participating services is required to provide support to the program with its 

own funds.

The goal of an ACTD is to provide operational commanders with 

actual prototypes of advanced systems that demonstrate unique military 

capabilities. With an example of a new technology to review and test, 

operational commanders were thus provided with the means to fully 

evaluate and, if necessary, shape the new system. Because the emphasis 

of these programs is on meeting clearly defined operational requirements, 

the ACTD also provides the operational commander an opportunity to 

develop and refine the concept of operations that will be used to guide the 

application of the new system. As the operating forces gain experience and 

understanding of the capability through realistic military demonstrations 

of prototype systems, they are better able to make an assessment of the 

military efficacy of the proposed capability.

A number of successful capabilities have been evaluated and shaped 

through the use of the ACTD process. The Medium Altitude Endurance 

Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, also known as the Predator, was one of the 

earliest ACTDs to be funded. It was flown and operated in Bosnia even 

before the ACTD was over. It has since transitioned into a mainstream 

acquisition program, and the Predator system continues to evolve as new 

and emerging missions define its role in modern warfare.
the transition dilemma 345

Although the ACTD process has proven quite effective for identifying 

emerging technological capabilities with high potential operational 

application while giving the services an important “fly before buy” 

opportunity, in the environment of rapid technological change, the ACTD 

approach can still seem very slow. It is the nature of the process that 

one must first build a prototype system, deploy it to the field, develop 

concepts of operation for its use, conduct operations with the system, 

and then evaluate its military effectiveness. By the time a system has 

passed through all of these stages, it may prove difficult and expensive 

to modify the system in order to take advantage of the knowledge gained 

during the demonstration phase. Therefore, the Joint Experimentation 

Program was introduced in order to create a direct link between technology 

demonstrations and warfighting. 

Joint Experimentation Program

Toward the end of the decade, the Joint Staff introduced a joint 

experimentation program. The purpose of joint experimentation is to 

examine new technologies, operational concepts and force structure 

(organization) options together rather than independently in order to 

discover true advances in warfighting capabilities. Joint experimentation 

allows warfighters to access new technologies before the systems utilizing 

them are fully developed. In this way, operational commanders can assess 

the value of emerging technologies and make suggestions to modify a 

system’s technological development program early in the development 

process. Presumably, these changes will make the emerging system more 

useful to the operating forces. 

When the United States Joint Forces Command was created in 1999, 

its Joint Experimentation Directorate (J–9) was established in Norfolk, 

Virginia, to manage the program. By using the J–9 office as a coordinating 

body, the research community has a new process for working closely with 

the operational forces. Concepts identified in the research lab can now be 

introduced into the joint experimentation process long before the technology 

is fully developed. This allows the researcher to reach an understanding with 

the military end-user and make a determination as to whether a program 

or system is even worth pursuing from a military perspective. And, if it is, 

the research community can determine what aspects or features should be 

emphasized in a new system. In addition, the joint experimentation process 

allows the operating forces to see “what’s cooking” in the research lab. This 

gives the operational community the chance to begin developing doctrine 

and training programs while the concept or system is still being developed. 
346 Providing the Means of War

The liaison aspect of the joint experimentation approach also allows the 

operational forces to have more direct input into the direction taken by 

research programs. This kind of arrangement has proven to be very productive 

for both the research and development community and the warfighters.

All three of these technology transition processes have helped the 

researchers and the operational forces reach a common understanding of 

how technology and doctrine are interlinked, relationships that became 

especially important for setting priorities for the use of scarce research 

monies. They are only really effective at advancing operational capabilities 

if they are closely linked to the acquisition and procurement process. If new 

technologies and capabilities are identified and developed but not procured 

and fielded, the operational forces cannot anticipate, respond to, or take 

advantage of their capabilities.

The Warp: Acquisition Policy Issues as Related to Research

Reconstitution

In his 1991 National Security Strategy statement, President George 

H.W. Bush included the following points: 

“The four fundamental demands of a new era are already clear: to ensure strategic 

deterrence, to exercise forward presence in key area, to respond effectively to crises 

and to retain the national capacity to reconstitute forces shout this ever be needed. 

. . . This difficult task [reconstitution] will require us to invest in hedging options 

whose future dividends may not always be measurable now. It will require careful 

attention to the vital elements of our military potential: the industrial base, science 

and technology and manpower. . . . We will now have to work much more deliberately to preserve them.”5

Following this guidance, the 1992 National Military Strategy noted: 

“Reconstitution also involves maintaining technology, doctrine training, 

experienced military personnel, and innovation necessary to retain the 

competitive edge in decisive areas of potential military competition.”6

The term “reconstitution” was introduced into the National Security 

Strategy in 1991 and used in numerous supporting documents at the time. 

It was not, however, used long enough to acquire a formal definition in any 

of the Joint Publications or the Department of Defense Dictionary. As it was 

used at the time, reconstitution can be defined as “the act of rebuilding the 

nation’s power base, which was reduced as a result of diminished current 

demands and future expectations, to a level necessary to meet emerging 

increased demands.”7

Although the word “reconstitution” was essentially dropped from 

the defense policy lexicon in 1993 when President Clinton issued his 

first National Security Strategy document, the concepts prevail and are 
the transition dilemma 347

debated to this day. It was under the philosophy of reconstitution that two 

predominant policy issues were debated throughout the 1990s. 

The thrust of the debate was this: If the United States was to reduce its 

standing military forces while remaining on the leading edge of technological 

military capability when next called upon to fight, the research infrastructure 

not only had to be preserved, but had to be actively sustained in order to pursue 

the latest technology development opportunities. Despite the logic of this 

position, it would be highly unusual for an institution to promote or maintain 

such a research capability if the results of that research provide no direct or 

immediate support for the institution’s mission. As the budget of the Defense 

Department shrank, policymakers were compelled to decide how to allocate 

scarce resources. Should monies go to support long-term research efforts, 

or sustain ongoing procurements and modernization programs? If the funds 

were used to continue ongoing procurement programs at their current pace, 

there would be no funds left with which to conduct research. This would have 

long-term ramifications for the entire defense establishment, since near-term 

shortfalls and program terminations would stymie the development of future 

systems. If funds were used to continue research at its current pace, acquisition 

programs would have to be cut, thereby eliminating future system procurements 

and reducing the need for the research in the first place. These difficult choices 

forced an intense debate within the defense community. 

What emerged from this debate was a proposal to reduce acquisition 

activities while continuing research activities. One suggestion, calling 

for research programs to be carried until they reach the procurement 

stage, meant developing the complete procurement package, including 

specifications, manufacturing instructions and in many cases even building 

prototypes. With this kind of strategy, once a system was prototyped, 

development would be halted and the program “placed on the shelf” as a 

hedge against future threats. The argument was that it would be a quick 

and straightforward process to get these shelved systems into production 

while, at the same time, the research would continue, allowing the R&D 

community to develop the next generation of weapons systems. If ever the 

time came that one of these systems actually had to be built, it would be the 

leading-edge system that was ready for full-scale production and fielding. 

Whatever the merits of this approach to technology management, the debate 

is not yet over, and this proposal has yet to be adopted.

Technology Transfer

The policy to continue research up to the procurement stage was not 

adopted, and the question arose as to how the research infrastructure would 
348 Providing the Means of War

be sustained in an active mode, thus ensuring leading-edge capabilities 

would always be available to the operating forces. What emerged was 

a policy of encouraging technology transfer from the defense research 

community to non-defense industry. A number of laws were enacted to ensure 

that the spirit and intent of this technology transfer policy were carried out. To 

this day, major research facilities have technology transfer offices monitoring 

and performing legally mandated technology transfer activities. For example, 

detection technology developed at the Naval Research Laboratory in 

Washington, D.C., has been licensed to a private company for integration into 

a commercially available Explosives Detection Device,8

 a monitor capable of 

detecting explosives in mail and parcel packages. 

Of course, technology transfer is not a new idea, and there was an 

important legal precedent for the laws and policies adopted during the 1990s. 

In 1980, for example, the Stevenson-Wydler Technology Innovation Act 

was passed into law. This bill encouraged and provided legal mechanisms 

for government research laboratories and facilities to work with private 

organizations in a cooperative manner. Before this bill was passed, the 

traditional method of cooperation was unilateral in character: the government 

would sponsor and pay for research performed by private facilities. With 

this kind of arrangement, the government owned the rights to the intellectual 

property and patents derived from this research. This fact tended to 

discourage nongovernment enterprises (such as pharmaceutical companies) 

from entering into joint research programs with the government, even 

if government laboratories were conducting leading-edge research. The 

Stevenson-Wydler Act allowed the private company or university, in certain 

circumstances to retain ownership to intellectual property developed under 

the joint research program. For example, utilizing a Cooperative Research 

and Development Agreement, the Naval Research Laboratory and the 

University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston (UTH) entered into 

a research partnership to develop a portable satellite-networked system to 

allow two-way audio, video, and data communication between an ambulance 

in the field and a hospital trauma center.9

 The Stevenson-Wydler Act also 

allowed the government facility to sell patent rights it held to nongovernment 

organizations and to retain royalties for internal operations at the laboratory. 

In 1996, the National Technology Transfer and Advancement Act amended 

the Stevenson-Wydler to strengthen the government’s ability to participate in 

cooperative research programs.

Under the amended act, not only could the government facility sell 

its intellectual property rights, the government workers who developed 

novel technologies would receive a share in royalties collected by the 

government. It was also possible now for nongovernment enterprises to pay 
the transition dilemma 349

to have government research laboratories perform research for them on a 

cooperative basis, and the results of this sponsored research was not held 

as public knowledge, but was rather held as proprietary by the sponsoring 

enterprise. In theory, at least, this afforded government research facilities the 

potential of offering its services on a “not to compete with industry” basis to 

nongovernment enterprises. The funds received from such operations could 

be used to sustain the facilities when government funds were inadequate for 

research and operating costs. 

There were many discussions and debates about this issue during the 

late 1990s, but the concept of selling the use of government facilities as a 

way of sustaining them for future government use never really materialized. 

Thus, defense research facilities were still required to depend on the 

Defense Department for the funds necessary to sustain their operation. 

It was the policy of acquisition reform that ultimately brought the 

research community closer to operational community and provided the 

programmatic link that currently sustains the research activities within the 

Defense Department.

Acquisition Reform

Throughout the decade, acquisition reform was changing the way the 

Department of Defense procured and fielded new systems. Technology was 

improving so rapidly that the traditional acquisition process could not keep 

up with it. New platforms and systems were being delivered with technology 

that was obsolete, expensive to operate, and difficult to maintain. Utilization 

of commercial off-the-shelf components made defense systems more reliant 

on commercial spare parts inventories. When commercial companies changed 

their products, defense systems were no longer supportable. In order to 

compress the time from approval of an acquisition program to fielding of the 

operational system and thus speed the time for development, new initiatives 

were introduced into the acquisition process.

Under the traditional acquisition process, systems were procured 

sequentially. First research was done, then the engineering completed, 

then the system went into production, and finally the system was evaluated 

by the operating forces and integrated into operational capabilities. This 

process is very useful when the technology being integrated into new 

systems is not yet matured. It ensures that only mature technologies are 

embedded into new systems. As ATDs and ACTDs, as well as commercial 

technological advancements, began to yield new concepts faster than the 

traditional process could accommodate them, a new process of concurrent 

development was introduced. 
350 Providing the Means of War

Utilizing concurrent development, integrated engineering (supported 

by ongoing research) and production occurred simultaneously. Like the 

traditional process, the introduction into operational doctrine and training 

programs took place after the system was placed in the field. Although this 

sped up the process, there were few feedback loops from the operational 

forces to the developers to help shape the systems to the operators needs 

during development. This process did, however, allow the integration of 

ATDs and ACTDs into the acquisition process in a very efficient manner.

After the joint experimentation program was introduced, the acquisition 

process was modified to allow for direct transition from ATDs and 

ACTDs into production coupled closely with user inputs throughout the 

process. Utilizing an experimentation/demonstration acquisition process, 

integrated engineering (supported by ongoing research) and operational 

evaluation occur simultaneously. Only after the system is refined through 

the interaction of both the users and the developers is it put into production. 

Also, under this process, production runs are scheduled and the system is 

designed so that the latest technology can be integrated into the system 

during each succeeding production run. This methodology links the 

researchers, developers, and users as never before. Process action teams 

have been established as a matter of formal policy to enable these close 

links.

Conclusion

As the 1990s drew to a close and a new century dawned, the defense 

research community became more closely linked to the operational units 

and the system developers than ever before. One visible result of these new 

relationships is the relatively shorter amount of time required to field new 

systems. ATDs, ACTDs, and JEPs have proven effective for getting cuttingedge technologies into the field; the value of the operational community’s 

role in research and development cannot be ignored. Similarly, technology 

transfer programs and acquisition reform initiatives have strengthened key 

relationships between the commercial world and the defense community, 

and the benefits of these new and emerging relationships have yet to be 

fully realized. 

Although these approaches and policies have proven largely beneficial 

for the defense community, it is important to remember that improved 

R&D techniques and shorter system development times have often come 

at the cost of other diversified research efforts. Research and development 

programs have often been sustained at the expense of procurement and 

sustainability for contemporary forces. Making this kind of trade-off is an 
the transition dilemma 351

ongoing tension within the DoD and the subject of a debate that continues 

to this day. Do we sacrifice future systems to preserve legacy equipment, 

or defer maintenance on field systems to seek out new technologies and 

capabilities? This is a difficult quandary, and the picture is complicated by 

other policy discussions.

The Department of Defense is also debating not only how big the 

peacetime research infrastructure should be, but also who should manage 

it. Many major acquisition programs have established strategies that 

require a single prime contractor to manage the program from the earliest 

research stage, through the systems life cycle and on to decommissioning 

and destruction. The size and scope of the peacetime research community 

is also being debated as part of the ongoing Base Realignment and Closure 

(BRAC) discussions. Throughout all these debates, it is easy for the weft 

and the warp to tangle and fray. To keep the fabric of national security tight, 

it is important to stay focused on identifying what is necessary to ensure the 

U.S. maintains leading-edge technological military systems in perpetuity.
352 Providing the Means of War

NOTES

1

 George H. W. Bush, “Remarks by the President to the Aspen Institute 

Symposium” (as delivered) (Aspen, Colo.: The White House, 2 August 

1990). 2

 Department of Defense, Deputy Undersecretary of Defense (Research 

and Technology), “Defense Science and Technology Strategy,” Washington, 

D.C., May 2000. 

3

 Department of Defense, Office of the Under Secretary of Defense 

for Acquisition, Technology, and Logistics, “Introduction to ACTDs,” 

http://www.acq.osd.mil/actd/intro.htm. 4

 Department of Defense, Office of the Under Secretary of Defense for 

Acquisition, Technology, and Logistics, “ACTD Guidelines: Formulation, 

Selection, and Initiation,” http://www.acq.osd.mil/actd/guidelns/fomulat.

htm. 

5

 The White House, “The National Security Strategy,” Washington, 

D.C., 1991.

6

 The Pentagon, “The National Military Strategy,” Washington, D.C., 

1992. 7

 Mark L. Montroll, “Reconstitution, Research, and Development: From 

Swords to Plowshares and Back Again,” Report Number ICAF 93-S100; 

Industrial College of the Armed Forces (ICAF), Washington, D.C., 1993.

8

 See the listing for the explosive detection system at Naval Research 

Laboratory, Office of Technology Transfer, “Licensed Products,” http://

techtransfer.nrl.navy.mil/lic_products.php. 9 Naval Research Laboratory, Office of Technology Transfer, 

“CRADAs,” http://techtransfer.nrl.navy.mil/cradas.php.
Symposium Closing Remarks

B. F. Cooling

DR. JEFFREY CLARKE: Dr. Benjamin Franklin Cooling has agreed 

to present us with some closing remarks and observations. Professor 

Cooling was given many of the papers in advance of our sessions, and, 

during the past three days, he has had the opportunity to attend a great 

many of our sessions. Dr. Cooling holds a Ph.D. from the University 

of Pennsylvania. He currently holds the position of professor of Grand 

Strategy and Mobilization at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces 

here in Washington, D.C.

During his career, he has been associated with the historical programs 

of the Army, the Air Force, the Department of Energy, and the National 

Park Service. He has also had numerous teaching assignments, both within 

the defense educational system and in the civilian academic community. He 

has been a prominent member of many historical professional organizations 

and associations. He has authored, co-authored, or edited well over a dozen 

books on military history, many of them having to do with the military, 

business, and technology. He’s just the person to give us a balanced 

assessment of our conference.

Dr. Cooling, the podium is yours, sir.

DR. B. F. COOLING: Thank you, Dr. Clarke, and thank you, ladies 

and gentlemen, for hanging in here during what has turned out to be a 

very difficult week. None of us could have anticipated at the beginning the 

events that transpired yesterday morning [11 September 2001].

Regrettably, those who were with us at the beginning of the symposium 

are not here with us at the end. They have missed a whole lot, and I 

personally have missed a lot by being called back and forth for what I 

thought were going to be teaching duties. It turns out, of course, that 

the institutions were closed because of the horrible events that unfolded 

yesterday. So I share in the dislocation that you all have experienced during 

these three days.
354 Providing the Means of War

Because of what happened, a cynical person might suggest that all of 

the detailed coverage and the provocative analysis presented during these 

symposium sessions now might be entirely irrelevant. It remains to be seen 

how yesterday’s events will influence the acquisition of the tools of war 

in this decade or in the years to come. Given the magnitude of the tragedy 

that just unfolded, this is probably not an unreasonable conclusion. All of 

our questions about the acquisition of complicated and expensive weapon 

systems, the management of the defense industrial base, and all of the 

things we associate with post-World War II acquisition seem to pale before 

the challenges we face in our very unsettled world. 

I do not want to suggest that this sentiment will be the focus of my 

remarks this afternoon. I certainly have been educated and entertained by 

those of you who were present, whether you were on a discussion panel or 

in the audience. 

I would rather not make profound statements about the future 

of warfare. Instead, I want to focus on three questions relative to the 

symposium: What was this all about? Why was it important? And what has 

been covered and what has not been covered? Then, I would like to make 

some very specific historical comments and random thoughts on acquisition 

that I threw together this morning. Yesterday, I made the mistake of leaving 

all of my notes in my office—an office that is probably quarantined now 

as a result of yesterday’s events. So these random thoughts on acquisition 

history and context are by no means comprehensive or encyclopedic, but 

are instead a series of comments and observations that I’d like to make to 

wrap-up this symposium.

What was this symposium all about? Why is it important? Principally, 

it showcased the Defense Acquisition History Project, a chronicle in the 

making about DoD acquisition since the end of the Second World War. In 

addition to showcasing the project, it has occasioned our gathering. Our 

numbers have included some current and former DoD acquisition officials, 

a number of distinguished scholars, and the acquisition history project team, 

among others. The last three days have been an important first stage of this 

critical historical undertaking, a work in progress.

Our keynote speaker, Professor J. Ronald Fox of the Harvard Business 

School, underscored some critical themes for our discussions here. These 

included authority, responsibility, program management, work force 

training issues, the inadequacy of management techniques, and the need for 

an inventory of acquisition lessons learned—applied history, if you will.

Our distinguished roundtable discussion panel included three important 

administrators: Paul Ignatius, Paul Kaminski, and Jacques Gansler. They 

provided personal perspective, sagacious prescription, and the articulation 
closing remarks 355

of their respective agendas, because every one of them had an agenda to 

promote. That is the nature of their work as representatives, administrators, 

and intellectual practitioners. They touched on many of the same issues 

identified by Professor Fox in his keynote speech. Their contributions were 

also entertaining and immensely helpful for students of contemporary and 

recent acquisition history.

In addition to a keynote speaker, yesterday’s distinguished practitioner 

discussion panel, and my capstone remarks, there were five other sessions, 

each grouped very neatly around a specific chronological period. The 

panels featured the project volume writers discussing their respective 

eras, providing us with an overview that served as a point of departure 

for the follow-on paper presentations and ensuing discussion. These 

overview papers were accompanied by a total of ten specialized topical 

or programmatic investigations, all of which probed and poked via 

an approach that we used to call—somewhat derisively, I suppose—

“post-hole-digging” history.

Do not get me wrong; there’s nothing wrong with post-hole history. In 

fact, if you look at most scholarly history books published today, they are of 

the post-hole-digging variety. Indeed, detailed monographs are an important 

and valuable contribution to our collective knowledge about the world.

Every one of the participants, including the audience, represents a 

dedicated, informed, and involved student of acquisition. Here in this room, 

all of us are anxious to talk about our research discoveries and transmit new 

insights and understanding of the acquisition experience. We remain aware, 

however, that we merely stand on the threshold of knowledge about that 

experience – veni, vedi, but not vici as yet! Certainly coming and seeing

at this symposium are part of the process. But, in the end, publication 

of the proceedings will begin to conquer understanding the complexity 

and diversity of the subject field. Of course, I wish we had the published 

proceedings right now at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces. 

They would be indispensable for our courses on acquisition, mobilization, 

and defense industrial base and strategic planning and logistics. As a 

customer, we need this volume right now. We need it for the classroom and 

boardroom. We need copies in every conference room and for distribution 

among practitioners of acquisition and logistics both at executive and 

operator levels. Make no mistake, there is an audience for this subject. It 

will not be a popular audience, perhaps, but as students of experience, an 

audience in the policymaking arena. 

So I ask again: why is this symposium—and the ongoing acquisition 

history project—so important? The importance of the subject is patently 

obvious. Without material or materiel, our national defenses are hollow. 
356 Providing the Means of War

Without knowledge of and an appreciation for prior experience in 

acquisition—within context—the stories of weapons system development 

remains incomplete. It is important to promote an understanding of how our 

national defenses are built, and acquisition is, in many ways, the foundation 

of our military strength. This symposium and the larger acquisition history 

project will explore the key relationships that are the building blocks of that 

foundation. 

Acquisition history is interdisciplinary and integrative. It embraces 

political, economic, and sociocultural elements, as well as the technology 

that has long captured our imaginations. The “drum and trumpet” story—

the operational history—is the stuff of which movies are made and legends 

are born; it is the thing that best draws the attention of the public. But 

the operational part of the story is only half a loaf, because it’s missing 

this acquisition ingredient. It misses procurement of the “sinews of war.” 

Thus this symposium has been important because it served as a forum 

for the first erratic steps that will eventually form an acquisition history 

overview. Because of the very specialized case study approach taken by the 

presenters, these steps were punctuated by facts, stories, and insights that 

can be used to build pillars of acquisition wisdom.

Far too many acquisition histories have been buried in program history 

office files. The critical details are hidden in the random reminiscences and 

war stories that appear in oral history interviews that are scattered around 

the country. Our distinguished panelists had a number of interesting stories 

to share, and it is imperative that we try to capture those stories, because 

they are the fabric of history and the fabric of the subject at hand. Without 

these stories, the raiments of acquisition history have to be made from a 

rough weave of bureaucratic decision papers, directive binders, and contract 

specifications. Working with that limited material, the facts may be present, 

but the insights, struggles, and human drama that are conveyed in story form 

cannot be passed on to the next generation of acquisition professionals. 

Being the “first chop” at the interpretation of the documents has always 

been the hallmark of official history. That point was stressed by one of 

my mentors, the Army’s chief historian of years ago, Dr. Maurice Matloff. 

Those of us who trained under his tutelage will never forget his views on 

the value of history and historical study, and I believe he would be one of 

the first to applaud this acquisition history project if were he alive today.

On the matter of what has been covered and what has not been covered, 

Dr. Matloff would surely have seen this symposium as one giant step on 

a much longer path. He would have appreciated what has been discussed 

by each panelist, and no doubt impressed with what Dr. Kaminski so aptly 

captured yesterday by his remarks on the “four P’s”: process, people, 
closing remarks 357

partnership, and persistence. Likewise, Matloff would have applauded Dr. 

Gansler’s ten fundamental areas that formed the core of his presentation, 

ably articulated not only as part of a memoir, but also as a credo for his 

continuing work and thinking in this particular field.

Given that Dr. Matloff was a product of the World War II defense 

environment rather than the post-Cold War transitional period, he might 

have related strongly to Mr. Ignatius’s discussion of purchasing and 

procurement. Mr. Ignatius’s remarks about terminology struck a chord with 

me since, in the acquisition business and in the larger defense community, 

we are constrained by our vocabulary and our definitions. For instance, 

somehow we must go beyond calling the contemporary era the “post-Cold 

War” period. As of yesterday, September 11, 2001, we are surely in 

something besides the post-Cold War era. We don’t know what to call it yet, 

so we refer to it as the “late Cold War transition,” transition being the time 

at the moment perhaps.

Terminology notwithstanding, Matloff would have seen the influence 

of internal and external politics, federal as well as institutional, on the 

acquisition process. Similarly, he would have recognized the interservice 

jockeying and squabbling that is only partially abated at the top levels of 

command. He would have understood and acknowledged the ever-present 

role of dollars and budget, organizational structures, and cultural constraints 

that have been alluded to in your presentations and in the comments made 

by our audience.

Technology was not so much Maury Matloff’s forte. He preferred to 

think in terms of overarching strategic formulations. Seeing the world 

through the strategic lens would not have prevented him from grasping the 

symbiotic relationship between technology and strategy, a kind of marriage, 

somehow never consummated under the vows of the acquisition process. 

Many of you alluded to this theme in your papers.

Although we have covered a lot during the past three days, I am sure 

each of us has thoughts about what wasn’t mentioned and what should 

have been discussed. We could probably use Dr. Gansler’s roundtable 

remarks to explore what could have been covered. The overview papers 

and the more topical papers incorporated aspects of the changing nature 

of warfare (a theme Gansler identified as one of his ten points of inquiry) 

and, at least tangentially, new threats (area two), although we might think 

in terms that are very different today than we would have if asked to think 

about new threats before yesterday morning. Dr. Gansler’s remarks about 

modernization (area four in yesterday’s presentation), high cost over life 

cycle (area five), and science technology research and development (area 

seven) were all addressed in some detail in the symposium sessions.
358 Providing the Means of War

I am less certain that I heard much about equally important points 

that Dr. Gansler mentioned yesterday. Service jointness and multinational 

“combinedness” (area three), as the Pentagonese would have it today, 

deserve more attention. Likewise, the integration of acquisition as part of a 

larger framework of logistics processes (area six) should be studied closely. 

Infrastructure (Gansler’s area nine) and work force (area ten) were subjects 

that got some attention, but they must be examined in more detail in this 

project’s final product, the chronological volumes.

Above all, I believe the acquisition history must explore the other side 

of the acquisition coin: Dr. Gansler’s area eight, the defense industrial 

base (or what we used to call the “military-industrial complex”). Important 

are the connectivity of ideas, the management of personnel, the transition 

of people back and forth between the private corporate sector into the 

acquisition sector, the influence of management styles from the private 

sector on managers working within the government community, et cetera. 

These aspects of defense-industry collaboration and cooperation—implied 

yesterday by our three distinguished round-table participants—need to be 

incorporated into the DoD acquisition story.

Defense acquisition history should also address another important 

contextual question: Where does DoD acquisition fit into the overall pattern 

of government acquisition? This is not to suggest that the broad subject 

of federal acquisition should be explored in some fashion, perhaps as the 

backdrop for the DoD acquisition decision-making process. The legal, 

procurement, and contracting experiences and practices in government 

generally should inform for exploring continuity and diversity in the purely 

defense area. Moreover, together, they can enlighten us about war and the 

state in late twentieth and early twenty-first century America.

Let me share with you now some random thoughts on acquisition in 

a historical context. We could probably talk for a week about this topic. 

My ICAF colleague Dr. Robert Scheina has posited what he calls the 

“golden rules of acquisition history.” They have governed our acquisition 

activities since we first started government and defense acquisition in 

the colonial period, or at least militarily since my namesake came down 

to Frederick, Maryland, from Philadelphia to work with English general 

Edward Braddock on securing wagons for his ill-fated 1755 expedition to 

Fort Duquesne. Many of these golden rules seem to have been featured in 

this symposium.

First of all, it’s clear that there’s been a constant power struggle 

between those who favor a centralized process and those who prefer 

decentralized acquisition. Virtually all the papers, comments, and remarks 

at this symposium have featured that tension.
closing remarks 359

Second, this struggle seems to have its origins in the ideological 

differences of our earliest political parties, the Federalists and the 

so-called Republicans or Jeffersonians. Over time, the struggle became 

less ideological and more driven by political pragmatism; in other words, 

political power was derived from having control of the resource-distribution 

process, and struggles sometimes played out between the branches of 

our government over who was going to control the distribution of money 

and contracts. The nucleus of the struggle shifted to the military services, 

where disagreements over missions, doctrine, interservice cooperation, 

and resource management all became part of the acquisition process. The 

more modern forms of this struggle were reiterated throughout the papers 

presented at this symposium.

Third, and I did not detect this from the presentations, is that most 

acquisition laws prior to the 1960s were reactive to scandal, seldom 

proactive. In the 1960s, control of the acquisition process became more 

of a power struggle between the branches of government as Congress 

initiated more laws to govern the process. It was during this competition 

in the 1960s that the number of acquisition laws increased considerably; 

perhaps this is attributable to post‐Eisenhower fears about the militaryindustrial complex, the Vietnam-era aura of things, high-profile acquisition 

scandals, or perhaps something else. Whatever the reasons, there seemed 

to be a tremendous increase in ethics laws and regulations. I don’t think 

this was because Americans were more corrupt or devious, but because 

the communication revolution made malfeasance more transparent and, 

under the right circumstances, more dramatic, drawing attention from not 

only Capitol Hill, but also constituents from around the country. Mounting 

public pressure may have influenced the struggle between Congress and the 

Department of Defense.

The values and ethical principles that the acquisition community always 

talks about have, in fact, shifted or evolved during the period of time 

covered by this acquisition history project. The literature that periodically 

highlights scandal, whether the “shoddocracy” of the American Civil War, 

the later “merchants of death” that received congressional attention in 

the 1930s, or the more recent “military-industrial complex” trumpeted by 

Eisenhower’s farewell address, continuously underscored the question of 

official trust with public funds. Again, an ancillary focus in the acquisition 

history volume might address a somewhat traditional leitmotiv or fourth 

golden rule for acquisition: rising expectations of impeccable morality for 

those entrusted with national security programs to the point of a career 

service Acquisition Corps or professionals in the late 1980s, who would 

function above and beyond the political cauldron of dispensing federal 

monies for huge weapons programs or logistical support.
360 Providing the Means of War

Something that should be mentioned as another golden rule might 

be that a peacetime acquisition emphasis on promoting efficiency of 

fiscal consumption gives way to wartime mobilization that emphasizes 

effectiveness of the warfighting capabilities. How well the policies, 

programs and human mindset of the bureaucrats or responsible officials 

transform forward and backward from state of peace to state of war to 

peace again is surely part of acquisition study. Of course, in broadest 

terms, the spectrum should be seen as preparedness, surge, mobilization, 

war, demobilization, and reconstitution. We have recently passed 

through a demobilization in the 1990s, although we soon sensed it 

was “transition,” and the events of 9/11 suggest that once again the 

upsweep of remobilization is in tow with all sorts of yet unanticipated 

consequences of acquisition in the new century. In point of fact, by the 

time that the Defense Acquisition History appears in print, the nature 

and competition of separate portions of the Global War on Terrorism, 

Homeland Security/Defense, and Operation IRAQI FREEDOM will 

have transformed (another favorite Pentagon reformation term in current 

vogue) acquisition for the future. The New Mobilization of 2002/2003 

will have departed from benefits only for traditional industrial-business 

partners of the American military to sharing with new national security 

contractors of the Information and Service Age cutting across other 

government agencies. Globalization itself will transform the manner 

of acquisition for national ministries of defense such as the Pentagon. 

“Lessons learned” from response to events and the new preemptive 

official National Security Strategy will have their effect on defense 

acquisition and its contemporary historical record.

At the risk of going on too long, I do want to share a couple of other 

thoughts with you. Some of my observations flow from the work of a 

lawyer/professor at nearby George Washington University. James F. Nagle 

wrote a book that is very relevant to what we are doing here. His book, 

The History of Government Contracting, was published by the George 

Washington University in 1992. It was very nicely done and is very useful 

for both general reference purposes and professional research.

Nagle opined in his epilogue that if someone had been asked to devise 

a contracting system for the U.S. government, “it is inconceivable that one 

reasonable person or a committee of responsible people could come up with 

our current system.” That system stems from thousands of decisions made 

by thousands of individuals, within and outside government. It reflects “the 

collision and collaboration of special interests, the impact of innumerable 

scandals and successes, and the tensions imposed by conflicting ideologies 

and personalities.” If you think about it, there are little flashes of light 
closing remarks 361

throughout all the papers that we heard here that reflect or allude to Nagle’s 

conclusions.

Since the 1750s, the period in which his narrative begins, “the 

basis of wealth has gradually changed.” He goes on to discuss the late 

eighteenth century, when wealth was based on land, and how this merged 

in the twentieth century: “Capital has become less hardware-oriented and 

more dependent on talent and ingenuity.” Then, Nagle writes, beginning 

about 1955, white-collar service workers overtook blue-collar workers 

numerically for the first time. Since then, some of the most financially 

successful companies in today’s world do not own large factories with 

billowing smokestacks or raging furnaces. They may only occupy floors 

in office buildings or maybe they own the whole office building, where 

people skilled in computer science or other technical fields can develop new 

software or new processes. In the process, “some of the industrial giants 

that once dominated the economy could not adapt and became dinosaurs,” a 

hallmark of the defense industry in the 1990s.

Nagle wrote from the perspective of the final decade of the twentieth 

century. Even then, some defense contractors were in the process of 

fulfilling his observations. So it was that he concluded that throughout 

our history, “the upheaval of new ideas” was exploited by entrepreneurs 

who took full advantage of the shifts in economic and social power. Citing 

farmers in eighteenth-century partnerships, industrialists and corporations 

in the next century and multinational conglomerates in the twentieth 

century, ten years after writing, Nagle and we, too, may wonder how 

government acquisition may respond to entrepreneurial flexibility under the 

laws of Darwinian survival.

More to the symposium’s theme, however, since DoD acquisition is a 

government or public responsibility and mandate, Nagle referenced futurist 

Alvin Toffler’s notion that in this process, government is always “the great 

accelerator.” Possessing “coercive power, its voracious appetite for supplies 

and services and its tax revenues,” government traditionally could undertake 

that which was unaffordable to private enterprise. Government could 

accelerate the industrialization process by creating a need for vast quantities 

of goods and by intervening to fill gaps in the economic system. Without such 

government intervention, industrialization would have occurred more slowly, 

if at all, he concludes. In his view, while economic change has opened many 

new paths to power over our history, the “one constant path has been the 

government contract.” Certainly the government contract forms the hallmark 

of the five Defense Acquisition History volumes now in preparation. 

A recent study of the defense industry, Ann R. Markusen and Sean 

Costigan’s Arming the Future: A Defense Industry for the 21st Century
362 Providing the Means of War

(1999), suggests several defense policy choices, all built around themes that 

will sound quite familiar. In their final chapter, they had subtitles to various 

sections: “What and How Much to Buy?” “How to Buy It?” “From Whom 

to Buy?” “The Make or Buy Decision, or How Much to Privatize?” “Who 

Should Merge/Collaborate with Whom?” “What to Export and to Whom?” 

These broad questions might not be as important for writing the first 

volume in the acquisition history series, but these issues will most certainly 

have to be addressed in the last volume. Arming the Future asks other 

challenging questions. What was the role of off-shore procurement and 

the larger arms export business, and how did these aspects of the defense 

business change the acquisition process? What form does acquisition 

competition now take and what influence does it have on our economy, our 

expectations, and our armed forces? By implication, is it recession-proof? 

Certainly, if we are going to look at the history of defense acquisition as a 

whole, we will have to understand the long-term evolution of a process that 

compelled Markusen and Costigan to ask these questions in 1999—and not 

just about a domestic defense industry, but one internationalizing in size 

and scope. Arms ‘R Us might not be so facetious a title for the Defense 

Acquisition History as first seemed.

The conclusions and prescriptions of Markusen and Costigan are 

informative. They contend that the “defense-industrial challenge for the 

United States is to achieve the following goals simultaneously: One, 

maintain a sophisticated, flexible and tried and true defense-industrial 

base.” This is just as vital in 2002 as it was in 1948–1949, or even one 

hundred years ago. Second, they advance, “ensure cost and quality 

discipline using market forces where possible and effective oversight where 

not.” Effective oversight was an important component of the acquisition 

process, and it still is. Third, Markusen and Costigan continue, “constrain 

the distorting effects of industry political influence.” Number four, they 

suggest: “Link procurement to the most appropriate defense strategy for the 

coming decade.” Weighing all the evidence, they decided, “we conclude 

that a concerted international consortium among allies led by the United 

States, to rationalize defense-industrial capacity and slow the pace of arms 

innovation and diffusion is a most promising route, one that maximizes our 

security which economizing on defense preparedness and harnessing the 

industry to security ends, rather than by vice versa.”

The word “economizing” immediately invokes the image of a dollar 

sign in my mind, since cost has always been a factor as one of the major 

themes in the acquisition history, whether it’s back in the American 

Revolution or more recently. But, Markusen and Costigan, as private 

citizens, view it more as arms control, I think.
closing remarks 363

“This path is also the one most likely to maximize prospects for 

world peace and restrain the development, possession, use, and potentially 

destabilizing effects of sophisticated weaponry.” Well, I am never one 

to miss a chance to somehow sound the cause of world peace, which is 

admirable, although that is a little extraneous to what we are concerned with 

in this gathering.

A final thought before I conclude. In early 1982, Dr. Gansler and I 

corresponded about his participation in a planned anthology that I had in 

mind at the time called Making War: the Military Mobilization in American 

Business in World War II. Well, the volume never transpired. He took the 

essay that he had given to me and made it the first chapter in his book, The 

Defense Industry. The other day, while trying to put together some thoughts 

for my remarks, I found his letter in reply, and I want to quote a couple of 

key passages because they are relevant to what we’re talking about in this 

symposium.

Referring to our project in 1982, Gansler wrote, “I think it is badly 

needed now and, thus, there is a sense of time urgency to try to get it out 

in order to help with the current emphasis on mobilization in the Reagan 

Administration,” adding, “and to take advantage of the market demand for 

the book.” Even today, we cannot be sure about the commercial appeal or 

marketability of defense acquisition history. Gansler also warned in 1982 

that he worried “that the book will become too heavy to carry or read.” 

Such an enjoinder surely obtains for the current five-volume projected 

Defense Acquisition History project—the curse of official government 

history, although the work seems as badly needed now as Gansler and I 

obviously thought our work would be in 1982.

Finally, Gansler made some other insightful remarks in 1982 that bear 

repeating in this forum. “Let me emphasize the importance of such a book 

and the desire to do it in the next few years to catch the few remaining 

individuals who still have personal experience,” he wrote in 1982. He 

had referred to the WW II generation when writing to me, but he would 

emphasize it, I am sure, in reference to this current acquisition history 

project, “because that asset will soon be lost.”

Similarly, a few years ago the Department of Energy had concern 

at Oak Ridge about the need to conduct oral history interviews with the 

workers making nuclear weapons. Otherwise, the scientific and technical 

data would be lost, along with their know-how and the tacit knowledge that 

comes with having hands-on experience. Unfortunately, the 1990s were a 

period of political correctness, and in that charged environment, the Clinton 

administration refused to support anything even remotely related to building 

nuclear bombs. So that idea was shelved. 
364 Providing the Means of War

Still, Gansler is correct. Historians must contend with this problematic; 

if you don’t get on it now, the individuals, the people who were involved in 

these things, those assets will soon be lost. Gansler invoked that danger in 

1982 in his letter to me. I think all of his remarks in that correspondence are 

worth repeating again here and now. 

This acquisition history project is timely and important. Let’s get it 

done. Let’s get it out there. Let’s put it out so that a customer can use it, but 

in a size that anyone can use. This history will be invaluable to students of 

acquisition, and I look forward to being able to assign it to my own students 

at ICAF so that they might develop an appreciation for what has come 

before them, in terms of policy, people, and the other factors that contribute 

to the struggle that is the defense acquisition endeavor.

Let me glibly conclude by returning to a project that I worked on nearly 

a quarter-century ago, an effort to explore the acquisition and development 

of the new American steel Navy in the late nineteenth century. There is 

the famous Squadron of Evolution. A bunch of “pop-top” ships, we would 

call them today, but the squadron was a fleet prototype that made its way 

out of New York Harbor in November 1889. A brisk leave-taking occurred 

off Sandy Hook. No gun salutes, no tooting of whistles. The secretary 

of the Navy at the time, Benjamin Tracy, was on an escort boat, and he 

merely hoisted a signal, announcing, “Goodbye, good luck.” The squadron 

flagship, Chicago, answered with a simple “Thanks.” With that, the nucleus 

of a modern permanent American combatant fleet made its way to sea.

So today I would say goodbye, good luck to the project team members, 

and good luck to all of you working in acquisition history. Thanks to 

Science Applications International Corporation and the U.S. Army Center 

of Military History for sending the nucleus of the acquisition history project 

to sea with what I think we all would agree was an absolutely illuminating, 

educational, provocative, stimulating, and challenging symposium.
Part VI

11 September 2001

Round Table Discussion on Defense Acquisition

11 September 2001: Round Table Discussion 

on Defense Acquisition

Linda Brandt

Jacques S. Gansler

Paul Ignatius

Paul G. Kaminski

Editor’s Note: This round table discussion was advertised as the 

highlight of the three-day Providing the Means of War conference held in 

Tyson’s Corner, Virginia, and scheduled for the morning of the second day 

of the symposium: 11 September 2001. 

Although disrupted by the tragedies of that morning, the round 

table session continued as planned. The transcript that follows captures 

the feelings of shock, confusion, and anxiety that were shared by those 

in attendance, as well as an awareness that the day’s unprecedented 

terrorist attacks were going to have serious implications for the acquisition 

community and the larger national defense establishment. Remarks made by 

the participants about events unfolding in New York, Washington, D.C., and 

elsewhere, have been preserved here because of their value as historical 

documentation. 

DR. JEFFREY CLARKE: Our panel today will be led by Professor 

Linda Brandt from the Industrial College of the Armed Forces. Linda, 

would you like to use the podium to make introductions?

DR. LINDA BRANDT: Yes, thank you. First of all, I’m Linda Brandt 

from the Industrial College of the Armed Forces, National Defense 

University.

I want to thank you all for being here. We are meeting on a day as very 

critical events are now unfolding outside. We really don’t yet know what’s 

quite happened, but it certainly does look like it’s turning out to be a day 
368 Providing the Means of War

where the discussion of how we can equip our men and women in uniform 

is appropriate and important.

One of the things that I always say about acquisition is that, while it’s 

interesting, while the actual process is fascinating, and while the technology 

is really wonderful, the only thing that really matters about acquisition is 

what equipment you can get into the hands of the people who can use it.

I’m very honored today to introduce three individuals who have spent 

a very long time getting equipment into the hands of people who can 

use it, and they continue to work very hard to produce even more of that 

equipment.

One of the nice things about a session like this is that you can take 

a pause to reflect back on the past, look at where you are now, and think 

about where you’re going in the future. The three people who are sitting 

here at the front table have had a great deal of influence on how we think 

about acquisition, how we frame the acquisition debate, what we have 

done in terms of the intellectual discussion of acquisition, and also how we 

implement the acquisition process so that we do get things into the hands of 

the men and women of our armed forces.

I will introduce all three speakers at the beginning of the program, 

starting with Mr. Paul Ignatius. He is a critical thinker and a pioneer 

in acquisition and has, since his tenure in the Pentagon, been thinking 

and writing about acquisition in a historical framework. Paul Ignatius 

is a former secretary of the Navy. He graduated from the University of 

California, received a master’s degree in business administration from 

Harvard, and served on the staff of the Harvard Business School from 1947 

through 1950 as a research associate. Along with two Harvard Business 

School colleagues, he was the founder of Harbridge House, Inc., and those 

of you who have been in the acquisition business for a while have no doubt 

had dealings with Harbridge House in a management consulting capacity 

or in a variety of other professional capacities. He then served for eight 

years in the administrations of Presidents Kennedy and Johnson, first as the 

assistant secretary of the Army for Installations and Logistics, then under 

secretary of the Army, and, in 1966, he was appointed assistant secretary 

of Defense for Installations and Logistics, a position that pre-dated and 

foreshadowed the position that our other two participants served in. In 

1967, he was named secretary of the Navy and served in that position 

until 1969. Following his government service, he became president of 

the Washington Post and also served as the president of the Air Transport 

Association until his retirement in 1986.

He served in the military in World War II as a lieutenant in the U.S. 

Navy. He’s had a variety of distinguished civilian and military awards 
round table discussion 369

and serves on a variety of boards and other activities. He will lead off our 

discussion this morning by providing us with a framework and historical 

perspective on the acquisition process. 

He will be followed by Dr. Paul Kaminski, who is now chairman and 

CEO of Technovation, a consulting company dedicated to the development 

and application of advanced technology. Dr. Kaminski is also a senior 

partner at Global Technology Partners.

I first met Dr. Kaminski when he served as the under secretary of 

Defense for Acquisition and Technology, a position he held from 3 October 

1994 to 16 May 1997. In that position, he was responsible for all matters 

relating to the Department of Defense acquisition and technology, including 

research and development, procurement, acquisition reform, environmental 

security, international programs, dual-use technology, logistics, the defense 

technology and industrial base, and military construction.

That is such an enormous job that when they established that position—

and I go back long enough in Washington to remember the creation—I 

always thought that the people who took that job were either unbelievably 

optimistic, or perhaps didn’t understand what was involved in that job.

[Laughter.]

DR. BRANDT: But I think both of them do have an understanding of 

the job and all that it entails.

I had heard of Dr. Kaminski prior to meeting him because of his 

background and experience in the development of stealth technology. He 

is one of the most successful program managers to have ever served in the 

government, and he left behind a legacy that our military still uses to its 

advantage.

He has a variety, too, of honors and boards that he serves on, an 

enormously impressive educational background. But he left one thing out of 

his resume. He’s also an ICAF graduate, and we were always very happy to 

see him back at ICAF.

[Applause.]

DR. BRANDT: I turn now to Dr. Jacques Gansler. Now, I actually 

met Dr. Gansler when I first came to Washington. In 1982, I was invited 

by a friend to attend a defense industrial base conference at Brookings, 

and he was the speaker. I was very impressed with Dr. Gansler because he 

applied an academic approach to a subject that I had never seen presented in 

intellectual or academic terms. Dr. Gansler is now a professor on the faculty 

at the University of Maryland’s School of Public Affairs, where he holds the 

Roger C. Lipitz Chair in Public Policy and Private Enterprise. He teaches 

graduate school courses and leads the school’s new Center for Public Policy 

and Private Enterprise, which fosters collaboration among public, private, 
370 Providing the Means of War

and non-profit sectors in order to promote mutually beneficial public and 

private interests.

Before joining the faculty of the University of Maryland, Dr. Gansler 

served as under secretary of Defense for Acquisition, Technology, and 

Logistics from 1997 until 2001. In this position, again, he, too, was 

responsible for all those things I mentioned before. And, lest he remind us, 

he had an annual budget of $180 billion and a work force of over 300,000.

Prior to serving in that capacity, Dr. Gansler was very closely associated 

with TASC, Inc.—in fact, I always thought of him as TASC’s face to the 

government—and he served wonderfully in that capacity. He’s also held 

a variety of other positions in the public sector, including deputy assistant 

secretary of Defense for Materiel Acquisition in the early- to mid- and into 

the late 1970s. He also worked at I.T.T, Singer, and Raytheon. In addition to 

his extensive corporate experience, he has a varied academic background, 

and has taught and written about acquisition throughout the years.

Again, I have to say that one of the things that I, too, will always remember 

about Jacques is he has been coming to ICAF—I’ve been at ICAF for eleven 

years—and Jacques reminded me when I said he’d been coming for about 

twenty-five years, he said, “No, it’s been twenty-seven years.” Maybe it’s 

twenty-eight this year. So he, too, has a long affiliation with the school.

I am pleased to turn this session over to three individuals who have 

made such a mark on a field that is so patently important, and with that, I 

will turn it over to you,

Mr. Ignatius.

MR. PAUL IGNATIUS: Thank you, Linda. Paul, Jacques, ladies, and 

gentlemen. We have to discipline ourselves a little bit today in order to 

concentrate on the subject of this symposium while the world outside is full 

of breaking news with very serious implications, but it’s our duty to do so. 

And we, from this side, and, I take it, you, on the other, will do the best we 

can to address the subject at hand.

I am going to go back in time to about 1950, the time of the Korean 

War, and then move forward perhaps to 1970, thereabouts, through the 

Vietnam War. And just to show you how ancient I am, we used to refer to 

acquisition as “purchasing.”

The first contact I ever had with this endeavor was with the National 

Association of Purchasing Agents. Now some years later they upgraded 

themselves to business class and started called themselves the National 

Association of Purchasing Management, but it was still purchasing.

At some later point “procurement” came in, a little fancier word, but 

pretty much the same thing. There is a secondary definition for procurement 

that I think we needn’t put much emphasis on at this particular meeting.
round table discussion 371

At some point, “purchasing” and “procurement” became acquisition, 

and I expect that before this session is over, we will have some idea about 

how purchasing and procurement became acquisition. I’ve got some 

thoughts of my own, but Jacques and Paul will have more to say about that.

Shortly after the Korean War started in June 1950, there was a general 

named Phil Smith at Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio, who headed procurement 

for the Air Force. It was quite a creative group at Wright Field at that time. 

The head of it was Ed Rawlings, who left to become a chief executive at one 

of the large cereal companies. Within the procurement section were some 

really understanding people. Barry Shillito, known to many of you, Jack 

Schaeffer, who later became head of the FAA, and many others.

Phil Smith became concerned that fifty cents or more of every contract 

dollar was being spent by the purchasing departments of what were then 

called “air frame” prime contractors in the Los Angeles area and in Seattle, 

and he wasn’t sure of how competent these people were who were handling 

buying and major subcontracting.

So, with General Smith’s encouragement, I got involved in helping 

to set up a program for the aircraft industry to bring together buyers and 

purchasing agents from aviation firms like Lockheed, Douglas, North 

American, Hughes, and so forth. We wrote case studies—that is, Harvard 

Business School-type case studies—that dealt with the kinds of problems 

that one encountered in a period of major expansion. These were big fighter 

plane programs at the time with an awful lot of electronics on them.

Hughes Aircraft had corralled some of the world’s most outstanding 

electronics engineers. Among them were Si Ramo and Dean Woolridge, who 

both left to form Ramo Woolridge, which later became Thompson, Ramo, 

Woolridge. If you were writing the Book of Genesis about the electronics 

industry, you could get an awful lot of begat, begat, begat, through a number 

of generations, beginning with Hughes Aircraft. For example, Charles “Tex” 

Thornton, the head of Hughes, was having trouble getting magnetrons from 

companies like Raytheon and General Electric and from a little outfit up in 

San Carlos, near San Francisco, called the C.F. Litton Company. Thornton 

was smart enough to acquire that outfit and, in time, to build a giant company, 

Litton Industries, around this very successful producer of a component of the 

fighter fire control systems. It was a very exciting time.

I think that in a symposium like this, it’s important not only to look 

at innovations in the process of acquiring equipment and major weapons, 

but also to look at the organizations created to do it. As an historical 

footnote, it’s important to remember that the Army had a series of arsenals. 

Throughout our history, the arts of war were kept alive at these arsenals. 

We’d be in a war and then we’d demobilize, and pretty soon everybody 
372 Providing the Means of War

would forget about warfare. But the arts of war were kept alive in those 

arsenals.

The Air Force, being a brand new service, and not coming into being 

until after the Second World War, didn’t have this kind of institutional 

legacy to draw on, so it created some very interesting new forms.

The Ramo Woolridge company, involved in systems engineering 

for the big missile programs, was one of the first. Later, the Aerospace 

Corporation, which was a quasi-public corporation, came into being to 

oversee a lot of the Air Force’s work.

It was a time of intense technological change and challenge because 

of the missile. As World War II was coming to an end, the U.S. Army had 

a massive intelligence program to capture the German rocket scientists 

from Europe and the information that was available there. During the war, 

maybe a thousand or so V–2 weapons had been launched on London. This 

was a ballistic missile developed by Werner von Braun and his associates at 

Peenemünde. Von Braun and a number of his key people left Peenemünde 

several days before the war ended and surrendered to U.S. forces. The 

Soviets arrived a few days later and also got some people.

The German team came to the United States, as all of you know, and 

the Army placed its missile program at Redstone Arsenal, which was helped 

substantially by the arrival of these pioneers of German rocketry. Our army 

missile program was also given a boost by a very brilliant general there 

named Bruce Medaris from the Ordnance Corps who commanded Redstone.

Meanwhile, on the West Coast, the Air Force was developing missiles 

under another brilliant general, Bernard Schriever. Complicating the picture 

was a growing ideological conflict between the services over who should 

control this important new technology. The Army said, “We ought to control 

this new technology because the laws of ballistics apply, and of course, 

we’re the leaders of that field.” And the Air Force said, “Oh, no. The laws 

of aerodynamics apply, and we’re the leaders in that field; therefore, we 

should have the lead.”

The Navy was right in the middle. It had a Bureau of Ordnance with 

all of the experts on ballistics and a Bureau of Aeronautics with all of the 

experts on aerodynamics. They finally had to come up with some kind 

of solution. So they said, “if the missile has a wing on it, it belongs to 

the Bureau of Aeronautics, and if it doesn’t, it belongs to the Bureau of 

Ordnance.” In time, the impracticality of the Navy’s arrangement became 

apparent to everyone, and the two organizations were merged into the 

Bureau of Naval Weapons.

During this period, the Air Force was intensely interested in assuring 

proper pricing, and decided to do something about it. It set up a three-month 
round table discussion 373

long, full-time advanced management program, an Air Force pricing school, 

located in Los Angeles in order to facilitate direct interaction between 

the senior Air Force people responsible for procurement and pricing and 

the aerospace company people. This program was quite an important 

investment, in terms of time and the commitment of people. The curriculum 

was based on case studies written primarily for this program, and a number 

of people, including Professor Howard Lewis of the Harvard Business 

School, were involved.

While the Air Force pricing school was being held, the Navy’s 

Polaris program was getting underway. Polaris was of enormous strategic 

importance. One of the things that its director, Admiral Raborn, wanted 

looked at—in addition to all of the extremely complex and difficult 

technical problems—was how best to manage the contracts for the program. 

He believed that incentive contracts, which rewarded success and penalized 

failure, might be useful. At Aerojet and Lockheed Missiles and Space 

Division, I was studying how one would structure incentives for the Polaris 

program.

I want to switch now to the 1960s, the McNamara period in the 

Pentagon. I touched earlier on the issue of organization for procurement 

and acquisition. Especially in the Army, there was a great focus on 

organizational questions. The Army’s technical services had served the 

United States well throughout U.S. history. Our country, in some ways, 

was built by the technical services. The Ordnance Corps made great 

contributions to manufacturing by their perfection of blueprints and 

techniques for the serial production of guns. The Signal Corps, through its 

aviation section, helped to give birth to military aviation. The first contract 

with the Wright Brothers was with the Army Signal Corps. The Corps of 

Engineers was also responsible for many things we take for granted, like 

dams and waterways. An army engineer built the Panama Canal. So the 

Technical Services had a long, proud record.

But their jurisdictional claims became muddy as electronics became 

more widely used. The introduction of missiles further complicated the 

picture. What we had were virtual fiefdoms with jurisdictional scopes 

that were no longer pure. What the Army needed was integrated logistics 

and integrated procurement, but it had neither. McNamara pushed the 

integration issue, and out of it came the formation of the Army Materiel 

Command, with a four-star general in charge. It became a very important 

focus not only on procurement, but also on state-side CONUS logistics.

We were all encouraged at that time to look for innovations in buying 

and purchasing. At the Army level, where I got started, one of the things that 

bothered me were annual contracts for items with predictable requirements, 
374 Providing the Means of War

like a truck or a jeep. It’s easy to figure how many jeeps you need to buy. 

You’ve got some idea of the useful life of a jeep, and you know pretty much 

how many you need in the total inventory. So you can look ahead and say, “I 

need to buy 10,000 a year.” The contracts were being let on an annual basis, 

and often one company would win in one year, and another in the following 

year. So if, let’s say, Ford had the jeep contract and lost it to Willys, the 

government yanked the tooling out of Ford and sent it up to Willys. You had 

a hiatus in production for a long time and then another annual increment of 

jeeps.

Well, it didn’t seem to make sense, and I asked some of my people, 

“Why do we do this?” They said we have to because Congress appropriates 

money on an annual basis. One Congress can’t commit another. I said 

there ought to be some way to work this out. So a lawyer on my staff, a 

procurement expert, went to work, and he came up with a clever idea. He 

said, “Let’s buy three years’ worth of jeeps. Let’s ask for bids based on 

a quantity of 30,000. The starting costs would be amortized over a lot of 

30,000 rather than 10,000, and the unit price will be lower. If the Congress 

decides, for any reason, not to appropriate funds for years two and three, 

then the government would owe the contractor the unamortized portion of 

his start-up cost.” 

We went up to the Hill and talked to George Mahon, a great American 

who was the head of the Appropriations Committee. He said he liked the 

idea, and gave it his approval. General Frank Besson, head of the Army 

Materiel Command, issued multiyear contracts that saved money and also 

improved our military readiness.

I’m not going to get into acquisition during the Vietnam War except to 

make a couple of points. When Tom Morris, who was the assistant secretary 

of Installations and Logistics, left, I succeeded him, and it was at about the 

time that the major escalations of the Vietnam War were taking place. I was 

in that position for about three years.

During the middle and late 1960s, the emphasis shifted from finding 

new ways to do procurement to getting out contracts and assuring delivery. 

Procurement quantities were sizable, especially of ammunition, at levels 

higher than during World War II. The Air Force never expected to drop 

another iron bomb; in fact, it got rid of the tooling for making iron bombs. 

But we were dropping iron bombs in quantities that outmatched the World 

War II experience. Getting contracts placed and delivery on time was a 

major priority.

Another priority was the Army’s aircraft programs, especially for 

helicopters. We doubled the production rate of the Army’s Hueys from 

seventy-five per month to 150 per month. Production of the other Army 
round table discussion 375

helicopter, the Chinook, a twin rotor, was tripled from five to fifteen 

per month. With the increased production rates, we were also fighting 

shortages. The aluminum forgings needed for the helicopters were of the 

same type that were needed for our fixed-wing aircraft programs.

So my focus, as chief of procurement at the defense level, was getting 

all this produced and doing it in the best and most efficient way we could. 

But unlike World War II, we did not have the ability to commandeer 

resources. For example, Douglas needed forgings for a new jet airplane 

for commercial passenger use at the same time that we needed them for 

military production. We had to come up with strategies to deal with our 

commercial-military conflicts. It was a busy period.

I think I’ve used up most of my time. Let me end by giving you my 

own thoughts on the difference between purchasing and procurement, on 

the one hand, and acquisition, on the other. It’s useful for me to divide the 

world into two groups here and not think of a “one size fits all” approach.

There are some items that are bought by the military that have 

commercial counterparts. The government buys in huge quantities virtually 

the same stuff that my wife buys when she goes to the supermarket: 

mayonnaise, ketchup, paper towels, whatever. For items of that kind, where 

there’s a commercial counterpart or equivalent, we ought to buy the items 

by formal advertising or competitive negotiations.

But we also buy items that don’t exist in the commercial market. These 

are items that have to be created in whole or in substantial part, and here we 

are acquiring something, if you will, that doesn’t exist. We can’t go down 

to the supermarket and say, “I want a bottle of ketchup.” We are creating 

something new.

So the cultures of procurement and acquisition are different. I think 

the oversight system has to be different, too. With these commercial items, 

there must be a strict arms-length approach that consists of formally placed 

contracts, low bidder awards, and so forth. On the acquisition side, where 

you’re creating something new, buyer and seller have to work together. Yes, 

there’s still got to be an arm’s-length arrangement; it is, after all, a contract. 

But it’s a different sort of situation. When I think about the ethical issues 

surrounding acquisition programs and how we organize to manage them, 

and how we look at the people involved, it’s useful for me to think that 

there are different needs that perhaps require different governance.

I thank you for your attention, and I’ll now turn it back to Linda.

DR. BRANDT: Thank you, Paul. Paul?

MR. PAUL KAMINSKI: Thank you, Paul. You’ve provided us with 

a wonderful framework with which to continue. Let me ask those of you 

in the back of the room, can you hear me without the microphone? If you 
376 Providing the Means of War

can’t, raise your hand. I’ll not use the microphone, but if at any time I’m 

kind of fading and you’re not hearing me, please raise your hand and then 

I’ll use it.

I want to start with a framework to discuss acquisition that includes 

four P’s, and I’m not going to talk about each of these in depth, but I will 

weave them into what follows.

Discussions of acquisition usually focus on the first of the P’s. It’s 

a process based on legislation and a large body of arcane rules and 

regulations. In my experience, the other three P’s are of greater importance 

than just the process.

Besides process, the first of the other P’s stands for people—capability, 

training, motivation of the people involved in the process. The second 

one is partnerships—the partnerships that have to be put together to make 

the system work, partnerships within the government, partnerships with 

industry, partnerships between government and industry, and several other 

kinds of partnerships. And the last one that I’ve personally found to be very 

important is persistence—grabbing onto something and staying with it for a 

period of time to make it happen.

I’m picking up where Paul Ignatius left off. I came on active duty as an 

Air Force officer in 1964. I was sent back for a little more education before 

getting out to the field, so I really started out in 1966 after getting a master’s 

degree in engineering. I started my career by testing the advanced inertial 

guidance components for our ballistic missile systems and working on the 

very first precision television-guided munitions that were finding their way 

to Vietnam.

After finishing that assignment, which was really not an acquisition 

assignment—it was a test and evaluation assignment—I did a little more 

schooling and then ended up in an organization that, at the time, I couldn’t 

tell anybody about. In fact, my wife and I were at dinner a few years 

ago; at the end of the dinner, she was very quiet in the car driving home, 

and finally she spoke up in kind of a gruff voice and said, “You never 

told me you worked with the National Reconnaissance Office.” It turned 

out that her dinner partner had been the director of the NRO. Of course, 

at the time that I worked in the organization, that organization wasn’t 

acknowledged officially—it’s very existence was classified. But it’s 

important to the acquisition story because when I came to that organization, 

I was introduced to the way the National Reconnaissance Organization 

did procurement, and it was done in a very streamlined way. It was an 

organization that had a high tolerance for risk. The methods we used at 

NRO provide a good example of the kind of special relationships you need 

when you’re pushing the frontiers.
round table discussion 377

There was a program, since declassified, called CORONA, which 

was our country’s first space reconnaissance system. I think it had eleven 

consecutive failures before we got the first vehicle to work.

There were some very clever people who set up the entire acquisition 

system in the NRO. One was a General Martin. In fact, there were two 

Martins, brothers. One was in the ballistic missile business; the other was 

in the national reconnaissance business. Martin was very clever; he created 

some of the incentive schemes that were used at NRO, and it’s unfortunate, 

but we’ve seen a few of these schemes go away. We had a great deal of 

freedom and authority. NRO was an organization that wanted to incentivize 

the performance of these satellite reconnaissance systems in orbit. To make 

it happen, Martin came up with this wonderful scheme. Today, it’s called 

the Martin Incentive Formula. It was essentially a cost-plus-award fee 

contract. The fee was 15 percent. 

Martin insisted that the fee be paid to the contractor the day the contract 

was signed. The reasoning behind his giving up that cash flow was very 

simple. Every time the contractor failed to meet one of the performance 

objectives on orbit, the CEO was writing a check to the government for a 

piece of the fee that the company lost. Think about the incentives to the 

organization with that kind of arrangement. Every time the system failed to 

meet performance objectives, the CEO certainly knew about the problem.

While I was starting work on one of our new national reconnaissance 

systems at the National Reconnaissance Organization, I was asked about 

taking on a task that had dual-use applications, something that was useful 

for both NRO and our conventional space community. That dual-use effort 

hit me like a ton of bricks because I wrote up the procurement package, 

submitted it for review, and I found out we had this whole body doing 

what I call “conventional acquisition requirements review” for the space 

business, which, from my perspective, had all these oddball requirements, 

including a whole set of Contract Data Requirements List (CDRL) reports, 

a whole set of military specifications and standards, and other requirements 

that, as the program manager, I felt were unnecessary. The program 

manager could certainly remove any of the requirements that were imposed 

by the review organizations, but doing so would put the program manager 

at great risk. So the issue was, how far out on the limb did you want to 

go against bureaucracy to sidestep things that you felt you really didn’t 

need? That procurement was a very eye-opening experience for me. It was 

something I pocketed but later planned to come back and look at. 

I was able to put those procurement experiences to good use a little 

later in my career when I was working with Under Secretary of Defense 

Bill Perry to lay the procurement and acquisition foundation for the 
378 Providing the Means of War

stealth program. That program also started out very lean. In fact, what 

we applied were most of the principles that we first used in the National 

Reconnaissance Organization procurement system.

It comes back, first of all, to the first of the P’s, people. In both 

organizations, very careful attention was given to getting the best and 

brightest, equipping them with tools they needed to do their jobs. With 

those people on staff, it was very key, then, to allow the process to have 

a lot of tolerance for those bright folks who were dedicated to solving 

problems with innovative approaches.

Those organizations were also strengthened by partnerships, especially 

in terms of coupling together those who were eventually going to be using 

the equipment with those who were buying it. Because of my belief about 

the importance of these kinds of partnerships, I had always resisted the 

idea of a stand-alone procurement corps whose only mission in life was to 

acquire things. This was because I’d always felt you had to have some sense 

of how what you were buying was going to be used, what was important in 

that process, and we had to have some mixing of buyers and users to make 

that occur in the appropriate way.

We used this partnership approach in the stealth program. In 1979, we 

were using the idea of integrated product and process teams; we weren’t 

fancy enough then to call it IPPT at that time. We didn’t really have a name 

for it, but in practice, we had a monthly management meeting on every one 

of those key programs, and in the monthly management meeting, decisions 

were made about what to do during the next month and beyond. The price 

of admission to those meetings was that you had to be prepared to make 

decisions. Because we made decisions at the meetings, there was no chance 

to go home to check with the boss about whether we wanted to go left or 

right. It was a very wholesome process, and the people who couldn’t make 

decisions ended up getting separated out in a meeting or two so that the 

people who were showing up at those meetings were the decision makers 

and they were prepared for us to see where to go. 

It was this kind of partnership that directly involved folks like the 

government program manager, representatives of the command that was 

going to acquire the capability, the head of the test force, the Lockheed 

program manager, the GE engine program manager, the logistics support 

element, etc. With this team, crisp decisions were made, and I will tell you 

that in my experience, looking back at that program, I did see bad decisions 

that were made, but never did I see a bad decision last for two meetings.

[Laughter.]

MR. KAMINSKI: It was a very streamlined system made up of a 

small number of people, all of whom were very responsive. When I 
round table discussion 379

came back into government service as the under secretary in 1997, one 

of the things I tried to do was to see if we could pick up some of the best 

features of that management process and begin to apply it to our overall 

defense procurement system. When I came into the government, we were 

springloaded because an excellent foundation had been prepared. There 

was the so-called Section 800 panel that had already convened and had 

pretty much produced its results. It laid the foundation for what became the 

Federal Acquisition Streamlining Act of 1994. In fact, that act was approved 

the day I came into my under secretary’s position, so I had very little to do 

with that. That whole foundation was there, although I kibitzed a bit before 

coming to government service.

It was my view that the success of the larger procurements had to do 

a lot more with the people and the partnership rather than the process. 

The right people and right partnerships had to be in place for the process 

to work properly. When I considered some of the major acquisition 

programs, I thought about old friends in the Air Force—an officer who had 

gone through a series of forty briefings just to get to a major acquisition 

milestone. Almost anybody in one of those forty briefings could say no, but 

no one person could say yes.

I also felt that the Defense Acquisition Board—or the DSARC—

process had gotten to the point of theater by preparing for this big meeting 

in which someone might be recognized for their intelligence by simply 

raising a hand in a meeting and pointing out some problem that would slow 

up the program under discussion.

[Laughter.]

MR. KAMINSKI: And I felt the process had completely departed 

from its objectives because the objective of this process was not to hold 

big meetings; the objective was to acquire military equipment. And I think 

many people had lost sight of that.

So one of the important accomplishments I think of the past 

administration was the push to move to a true integrated product and 

process environment. I made it clear to the people there...

DR. BRANDT: Do you want to...

MR. KAMINSKI: Could I take a break?

DR. BRANDT: Yes. Can we just let Dr. Kaminski answer a phone call, 

and what I might ask, Jacques, is if you pick up and... 

MR. KAMINSKI: Sure, right in the middle of the full sentence.

[Laughter.]

[Mr. Kaminski leaves the room.]

DR. JACQUES GANSLER: Right. One of the important things that I 

think all three of us recognize is that even over a forty-year time period, the 
380 Providing the Means of War

issues are largely the same, and there is always the challenge of keeping the 

momentum of a project going so that you can, in fact, make what amount to 

continuous improvements to the process.

One of the things that I’ll never forget from trying to make changes was 

when I was really pushing a lot of the acquisition reform stuff, and I was 

giving a talk at—I won’t say where—one of our schools, and one of the 

professors there said, “Well, you know, as soon as you stop making all those 

changes, we’ll implement that and put them into the curriculum.” That 

professor just absolutely missed the whole point.

[Laughter.]

DR. BRANDT: Are you sure it wasn’t us?

DR. GANSLER: No. What both Pauls have described—and what I will 

describe—is a process of continuous improvement. The challenge that Pete 

Aldridge has now and is doing is to continue making changes in the areas 

that are critical.

I think part of the thing that makes it so interesting about the three of 

us is that we came to our senior acquisition positions with both government 

and industry perspectives. In my case, I had worked in the defense industry 

when I first got out of college because it was the most intellectually 

challenging part of designing guidance and control systems for missiles in 

the second half of the 1950s. I continued to do that kind of work through 

the 1960s. It was in the 1960s that I got much more heavily involved 

in selling things to the government, working to meet its specifications 

and requirements, and recognizing significant problems in how it was 

conducting business.

In 1972, I wrote a paper saying that I thought the government could do 

its business better. I was the vice president of ITT at the time, working in 

their defense electronics section, and Johnny Foster, who was then running 

DDR&E called. Foster was in the position that later evolved into the job 

taken by Paul Kaminski. Anyhow, Johnny Foster called me up and said, “If 

you think you can do it better, I’ll give you all the electronics programs. You 

try it.” So that was my first experience in the government, from 1972 to 1977, 

working first in DDR&E and then later in Installation and Logistics.

At the end of that, in 1977, I went back to the defense industry and 

worked for almost twenty years. While I was on the commercial side, I 

spent a lot of time trying to figure how we could improve acquisition, 

including spending some time on the Packard Commission in the mid–

1980s and then finally come back to the government in 1997.

I mention that because one of the things that really depresses me is 

how much of our legislation today discourages or, in some cases, almost 

prohibits people with experience from taking jobs in the government. I 
round table discussion 381

think that’s just counterproductive. It strikes me that experience is what is 

essential for success in these senior positions. A little earlier, Linda was 

describing the difficult nature of the job and the wide variety of things 

that it has to cover. The idea that a person could come into it and learn 

the job on the job—which is the assumption that most of our laws make 

because the goal is to find someone who has no conflict and, therefore, no 

background—is just inexcusable. I think what we need to recognize is the 

ethical character of people selected to take these positions. Quite frankly, 

I’ve always found that the people serving in senior government positions 

have much more concern about their ethical behavior than their counterparts 

in industry. So I think this is one of the key observations I’d like to make 

today: it really does take bringing experienced people into the government 

to take these positions.

The other side of it I would say . . . again, maybe it sounds like I’m 

talking about my own background, but my academic training was in both 

engineering (I earned undergraduate and advanced degrees in engineering) 

and economics (another advanced degree). I mention this combination of 

engineering and economics because there is a tendency in the acquisition 

community to figure out how to make the best system (the engineering 

challenge) or how to audit (the economist or auditor’s approach), but the 

real challenge is how to use engineering to reduce cost. We need to get the 

people who are in the acquisition engineering community to start thinking 

about cost as part of the larger engineering challenge, rather than relegating 

cost to the world of the accountant. This is a cultural issue, a cultural schism 

that may take many years to reconcile. 

Let me pick up from 1997. At my confirmation hearing in 1997, I made 

the point that one of the most important things we had to recognize was the 

dramatic period of change that we were in. Now, Paul Ignatius said there 

was a dramatic period of change before Vietnam. Historically, I suppose 

we’re always living through dramatic periods of change. But in the defense 

community, we do go through cycles in which the issues at hand are more 

matters of leadership and vision, while other periods are marked by changemanagement struggles, during which process and systems are the focus of 

attention.

One of these change-management periods occurred during the 

introduction of missiles; Paul briefly described this. Another was during 

the period of rapid technological change in the 1990s, when systems and 

technologies seemed to be evolving on an eighteen-month cycle. During 

this same period, new threats; dramatic changes in geopolitics, such as our 

increased dependence on allies in many parts of the world; basic changes 

in the nature of warfare, coupled with growing concerns about what kinds 
382 Providing the Means of War

of battle we were going to be fighting in the future (going from planning 

for the Fulda Gap in Western Europe to trying to anticipate the kinds of 

things we see today); becoming embroiled in regional peacekeeping; facing 

dramatic changes in our industrial structure, namely the consolidations that 

were taking place; all of these external issues combined with the dramatic 

changes in the character of the DoD workforce, meant that the acquisition 

business was in a period of transition, and the transition had to be managed 

properly.

With these dramatic changes underway, it was absolutely essential that 

the Department of Defense respond rapidly to bring about change in the four 

areas that Paul mentioned: process, people, partnerships, and persistence. 

I also have four areas of focus that I use to conceptualize acquisition, 

but mine are slightly different than Paul’s. My four points—questions, 

really—are: What do we buy? How do we buy? From whom do we buy? 

And who does the buying? I see these four questions as the heart of the 

acquisition dilemma. Now, we could easily have an entire discussion that 

would take up the rest of our time here if we focused on the first of those 

questions; a better articulation of that first question would be: “Should the 

acquisition community be involved in the question of what we buy?”

Paul and I have both emphasized the importance of involving the 

acquisition community, even though some of our predecessors, who 

came into office with the purchasing and procurement perspective Paul 

Ignatius, argued against it, preferring to think of their roles in terms of 

budgeting and management. I think it was very clearly established by the 

Goldwater‐Nichols Act of 1986 that the role of the acquisition community 

is to become involved in the decision-making process. This process has to 

involve collaboration between the warfighters, including the vice chairman 

of the Joint Chiefs, and the acquisition community in order to get an 

effective combination of perspectives that match warfighting requirements 

with affordability.

In other words, you need to make decisions; not “Here’s what I’d 

like to have”— we’d all have Ferraris if we could take it from that 

perspective—but “Here’s what we can afford to have in order to do that 

military mission.” And that trade-off, I think, is very much a function of the 

acquisition people playing a role in that decision process.

[Mr. Kaminski returns to the room.]

Paul, do you want to pick up from where you were, and I’ll come back 

and finish?

MR. KAMINSKI: Let me sort of close if I can, Jacques. Also, I want to 

let you all know that I was just called out because of some matters that may 

affect other people in this room.
round table discussion 383

It turns out that a 767 has crashed at the Pittsburgh airport. We don’t 

know whether it’s related or not. Most federal buildings in Washington are 

being evacuated. I understand that a section of the Pentagon has collapsed 

and there are fires at State and Congress as well. So this seems to be a little 

more activity than was initially indicated. All flights in the country are now 

shut down.

MR. IGNATIUS: A 767 crashed in -- ?

MR. KAMINSKI: They don’t know if it’s related, Paul. The crash just 

happened.

[Pause.]

MR. KAMINSKI: I don’t know if it’s possible to get us focused back 

on the subject, but I’ll try. I thought you should at least all be aware of 

what’s going on out there right now.

On the issue of what we buy, I think Jacques and I are in very 

strong agreement about the need for—I come back to one of my P’s 

again—partnership. Partnerships are an important part of the process 

associated with what we buy and also sometimes how we go about buying. 

Partnerships are sometimes about creating the right incentives. That’s why I 

used that example of the Martin Incentive. When you’re looking to develop 

a specific capability or operational characteristic, incentivizing the team 

can be very important, but it’s important that the entire acquisition process 

support the incentive approach.

I think we still have a ways to go in the partnership arena to make this 

work better. I still see, I believe, a great deal of horse-trading taking place 

in the Joint Requirements Oversight Council. Maybe log-rolling might be 

a more appropriate term for it. I also don’t see enough real engagement on 

the issue of cost as an independent variable to make the trade-offs needed to 

understand where we’re starting to get beyond the knee in the cost growth 

curves. In some cases, it’s important to go beyond the knee of a curve 

because it makes a very large operating difference, and we ought to be 

willing to pay for that or at least understand the consequences of paying for 

that in terms of the size of the buy.

I do think we need more and more discussion and give-and-take on those 

issues, bringing the data to bear, and while most talk about this is associated 

with hardware that we buy, there’s probably a lot more discussion needed 

on the software and the variable trade-offs in the services and the support of 

the equipment over the life cycle. Also, we need to develop an approach to 

create the right incentives. That does come back again to the people aspect of 

this issue, which is creating the right incentives for the best and the brightest 

to become involved in this activity and providing the right training and 

experience opportunities for people to do this well.
384 Providing the Means of War

I believe this is going to be a growing problem. The entire institutional 

base that we built during World War II and reinforced during the Korean 

Conflict and in Vietnam is in transition. If you look at the demographics of 

the acquisition workforce and the larger defense industry, we’re set for a 

period of time in which somewhere between the next five and fifteen years, 

we’re going to see about 90 percent of that experienced workforce out the 

door. And there is not, in my opinion, a suitable replacement program in 

place the capability to provide people like we had in the past. And no doubt, 

these chickens are going to home to roost. It’s only a matter of how fast can 

we gear up to try to do something more about it.

One point that I want to make is that we’ve made some very substantial 

progress through the use and collection of past performance data. That’s one 

of the initiatives I worked on, and Jacques continued to push on that. Past 

performance information is an important part of the proposal evaluation 

process, and I am really beginning to see how that initiative has influenced 

acquisition. Companies have come to realize that if they don’t perform well 

on the current contract, they’re going to have a little more trouble acquiring 

the next one because past performance is going to be reviewed.

The other thing I wanted to mention briefly—and maybe this will be a 

good hand-off to Jacques, and I can come back to some later points in the 

wrap-up—is that there were two major rewrites done of the 5000 series 

acquisition regulations. There was one done in 1996 when I was was in 

DoD, and Jacques also undertook a very major rewrite.

I think one of the most important things for this new administration to 

do is to take advantage of that base that Jacques established and make use 

of the flexibility that was written into that system in order to telescope the 

acquisition system. This is because there remain two appalling acquisition 

problems (and I’ll perhaps come back to these in the summary session): the 

slow pace of the process and the inability to provide funding and program 

stability.

We’ve got a lot of flexibility that we ought to be using, and I 

was directly involved in programs in which flexibility was used very 

appropriately and effectively, in both the stealth program and in our national 

reconnaissance program. Our first F–117 was fielded in 1983. Not many 

people realize that because awareness of the stealth program didn’t happen 

until many years later. It was a high-risk program. We started development 

in 1979, wrote the contract in 1980, and the capability was fielded in 1983.

The second major problem that exists—and very interestingly enough, 

Paul, you started out in describing the problem. It still exists today in a 

very major way, and that’s program instability. In most cases, we have 

a very good feel for what we need to buy over a period of time, but our 
round table discussion 385

annual budgeting process restacks the deck with the effect of destabilizing 

programs. I saw this firsthand on two occasions: the first when I was 

working with Bill Perry, then the under secretary of Defense (Research and 

Engineering) during the Carter administration.

It was during this time that, in my view, we were getting about fifty 

cents’ value out of our procurement dollar because every year we were 

restructuring programs. The result of this was that the average major 

program was slipping six to nine months every year as a result of this kind 

of restructuring.

I also saw this happening during the last administration, when every year, 

when putting together our entire acquisition budget, we were coming back 

and taking about 10 percent out of it for contingencies and other uses. You 

can imagine the havoc that a 10 percent reduction in your investment program 

can wreak. It doesn’t seem like much, but, in my experience, if you take 10 

percent of the investment program and you face these reductions on an annual 

basis, the inefficiencies compound to about 30 percent.

Those are, in my opinion, still the two biggest acquisition problems that 

remain: the slowness of the system and the instability of the system. Thank 

you.

DR. GANSLER: As I said earlier, when I was up for my confirmation 

in 1997, I identified what I thought were ten critical areas that I ought to try 

to focus once I was in the position and had four years to tackle acquisition 

problems. I emphasize that because it is almost impossible to do all the 

things you’d like to do. One could argue that ten points of focus is too 

many; there simply isn’t enough time to address everything. On the other 

hand, with the breadth of organization and the high quality of people that 

we had in the organization, many of whom I inherited from Paul (which 

was fortunate), I thought we could address these ten areas.

Some of my points of interest had already been examined and reforms 

initiated. Bill Perry and Paul Kaminski, among others, had done important 

work along these lines. But despite this foundation, I expected very strong 

resistance to change. I was looking to make lasting institutional changes. 

Some of my initiatives involved changing the culture of the department. 

Because of the institutional resistance the persistence that Paul mentioned 

earlier was absolutely essential.

I’m especially pleased by the fact that Pete Aldridge is continuing to 

address these same areas of focus, and because of this continuity, I think 

we have some reason to believe that, over time, we can make the necessary 

cultural changes. And looking back, we will see there were significant shifts.

Let me just briefly highlight these ten areas. The first one: What 

systems do we actually need? As I said earlier, there’s no point in trying to 
386 Providing the Means of War

figure out how to develop the perfect way to buy the wrong thing. I think 

the key to addressing this question in a meaningful fashion is to recognize 

the dramatic changes in the nature of warfare that have taken place. 

Bill Perry coined the term “reconnaissance strike warfare.” Others have 

used “network-centric.” Whatever you want to call it, the reality is that, 

compared to fifty years ago, warfare is very different today, and warfare 

will be very different in the twenty-first century.

Our technological capabilities have grown by leaps and bounds. 

Think about it in terms of real-time distributed sensors networked to 

distributed shooters; that’s the kind of thing we’ll be doing. This sort of 

warfighting approach requires smart sensors, advanced manned control 

communications, etc., a foundation of smart systems that exists to support 

the decisionmakers or make decisions automatically. These systems can, in 

turn, be supported by precision weapons. With advanced communications, 

sensing, and information distribution capabilities, precision weapons can 

be quickly redirected to fight against mobile targets. To realize this vision, 

there has to be a clear shift in the Defense Department’s historic focus 

on such traditional platforms, as ships, planes, and tanks. Resources will 

have to be diverted into these other, more radical areas to develop the 

technologies and systems that we’ve been discussing since the end of the 

Cold War.

That doesn’t mean you neglect ships, planes, and tanks. I’m confident 

that there is enough institutional inertia to make sure we don’t neglect 

those systems. But we have to recognize that a shift in resource allocation 

will be played out as a zero-sum game. This means that in order to support 

the continuing development of those older systems, we’re going to have to 

significantly increase the resources allocated to acquisition. This is one of 

the challenges that we faced, and I know it’s one that Donald Rumsfeld is 

facing now, especially with the tax cut. This shift of resources to modern 

warfare acquisition efforts is absolutely critical.

A second area that I believe is extremely important is the recognition of 

the new threats. This includes recognizing new dangers and identifying the 

new forms of technology that can be used to counter those dangers. New 

forms of warfare are often a response to the development of new military 

technologies—so-called asymmetric threats, for example—including, I 

think, what we’re seeing unfold today. There are other technology-based 

threats that have been with us for some time, but the changing nature of 

the world has increased the danger posed by these weapons. We’ve all 

heard about them: biological, chemical, nuclear, devices, as well as ballistic 

missiles that can reach the United States. Information warfare is another 

new threat—born of technology—which I’m sure we’re going to see a lot 
round table discussion 387

more of in the future. We certainly see forms of information warfare in use 

today, where much of the emphasis is on homeland defense. 

But, again, realizing or responding to these and other new technologies 

will require more resources, and those resources have to come from 

someplace. That is part of the the acquisition challenge. How do you 

generate these resources?

This brings me to the third area, jointness and coalition operations, 

which is an important part of how we fight our wars. Interoperability is 

obviously the key to jointness. Interoperability means designing, testing, 

and fielding systems that can be integrated—or are at least compatible—

with the platforms and systems adopted by our armed forces. The vice 

chairman and I actually signed a directive that declared that interoperability 

is one of the few critical performance parameters of every single weapon 

system. We’re really trying to get people to focus on the interoperability 

issue. We set up an office for interoperability. We set up a think tank at 

the Institute for Defense Analyses to try to push it. For obvious reasons, 

the Joint Forces Command is focused in this issue. The Joint Staff 

is now focused on it. The C3 Guide people are focused on it. I think 

interoperability is absolutely essential.

With our focus on interoperability, we’ve started to provide the basic 

tools for jointness; we still need to worry about the training and doctrine 

issues associated with joint operations. Ultimately, developing jointness is 

about developing trust, and I think it’s fair to say that reliable distributed 

sensors will go a long way to promote trust among the services. Developing 

systems that balance interoperability with reliability will be crucial. This 

burden is going to fall on the acquisition community. 

Jointness, however, isn’t enough. I would argue that just about any 

conflict we find ourselves involved is going to be a multinational effort. 

This is not just for military reasons. We involve allies for a variety of 

geopolitical reasons. We will have coalitions in every conflict. And 

we’ve seen what happens when our allies—for example, the Kosovars—

don’t have secure communications. We become very vulnerable in those 

situations. So if we’re going to have to have interoperability with our allies, 

we may have to make some very significant changes to our technology 

transfer and export control policies.

We’ve tried to make some of the necessary changes in export controls. 

We’ve also been applying enormous pressure on our allies to get them to 

more closely regulate their technology exports. They can do it; what remains 

to be seen is if they want to do it. Those countries will have to make choices. 

Will they opt to become interoperable and take part in the U.S. market, or 

sell a few things to China or Iran or wherever they want to? That’s their 
388 Providing the Means of War

option, but only the corporations and countries that show a willingness to 

control the distribution of their technologies are the ones that I think we 

should be working with. But interoperability and export controls are two 

sides of the same coin, so to speak. If they agree to monitor their exports, 

then we have to be willing to work them and share our technologies. This 

means that, over time, the defense industry is going to become even more 

global that it is today—this is a point I’ll come back to in a moment.

The fourth area is one that Paul mentioned: modernization. Obtaining 

resources to modernize is a challenge. Old and aging systems are at the 

heart of the challenge we face as acquisition managers. Let me give you an 

example. How many of you drive a sixty-seven-year-old truck? Now try to 

figure out how to maintain something that old. This is a common problem 

for the Army. They have to make predictions and forecasts based on a set of 

assumptions about the life cycle of their systems. They have to assume that, 

in the future, that they will have trucks that are sixty-seven years old.

As Paul mentioned earlier, every year we factor billions of dollars 

into our operations and maintenance costs in order to sustain these 

older systems. Where does that money come from? It comes out of the 

modernization account. These kinds of expenditures become a death spiral 

because we’re taking money from modernization to pay for logistics and 

maintenance, which means that our logistics and maintenance expenses 

are going to keep going up which, in turn, means that we can’t pay for 

modernization. It’s a trap.

We need to approach this problem from two angles. The first is to figure 

out how to get rid of that old equipment or make it much more reliable. 

Doing so might mean adopting proven commercial equipment. The second 

solution is to increase dramatically the funds for modernization. Over the 

past four years, we did exactly that. Hopefully, the increases will continue 

into the future.

The fifth area encompasses the very high cost and the very long cycles 

associated with weapons systems. I can’t overstate the importance of the 

cycles. In other words, while our acquisition reform efforts have tackled 

problems associated with cost as an independent variable, I think with 

contemporary technology development cycles of eighteen months (or less!), 

such as the technologies that are involved in reconnaissance strike warfare, 

we need to take a schedule as an independent variable approach. In other 

words, the typical commercial practice that says technology development—

or product development, for that matter—is an evolutionary process that 

consists of blocks. These blocks are modular, allowing the developers to 

make enhancements and improvements as the system or product is being 

crafted. This block-oriented approach is now built into the 5000 series 
round table discussion 389

acquisition regulations. It’s also built into the new directive on requirements 

that Vice Chairman General Joe Ralston signed in 2000. So now that the 

regulations and policies are in place, we have to make sure that we do, in 

fact, use the commercial practices of evolutionary or spiral development so 

that we can continue to upgrade the systems that we create.

Here’s an illustration of the problem that we have to solve. We have 

systems like the F–22, which is not yet in production, and we’re spending 

$350 million to replace obsolete parts before the plane is even fielded. 

A different model is to have a “block one, a block two, a block three” 

approach—build a flexible enough platform and get out there quickly as 

they did with the F–117 program, which was five years from initiation to 

deployment. The operational F–117 was block one; it will be followed by 

improvements and enhancements, i.e. block two and block three. Before we 

get there—in fact, before some of the enhancement technologies that we are 

anticipating have even been realized—we’ve got a deployable platform for 

use in military operations. If we adopt this approach, we can build and use 

that “block one” system and get it out into the field in five years.

Pete Aldridge just signed out a directive that says we ought to aim for 

a system development time of five to seven years. I think if we aim for 

five, we might make seven. But it’s a lot better than fifteen to twenty. Some 

cynics like to joke that the reason the F–22 is named that is because it’s 

taken twenty-two years so far to develop the thing. It’s ridiculous to propose 

a development process for a really great system that we need in the field 

only to spend more than twenty years to get it there when the technology is 

changing every eighteen months. 

There’s no question that one of the best ways to promote these changes 

and focus on higher performance at lower cost with faster development 

times is through the use of competition. If you say you’re going to do 

something in five years, you take available technology to start with and use 

it more in capability-based requirement for block one and then continue 

to improve it as you find what you need from the field, using a spiral 

development process.

The sixth area is the modern logistics. I think there needs to be more 

attention given to information-based supply chain management. Taking 

advantage of information technology to enhance out logistics capabilities 

will require a total transformation of our logistics system. The fact that our 

current system works is going to make it that much more difficult to make 

a transformation. We do have a logistics system that works. If we pile up 

enough metal and put enough people and spend enough money, we can 

force the system to work, but it is not world class. It doesn’t measure up 

to commercial capabilities. If, for example, you put something in a FedEx 
390 Providing the Means of War

drop box, you know with 99.99 probability that it will get there in twentyfour hours domestically and forty-eight hours worldwide. Other companies, 

including Caterpillar and General Electric, can make similar claims about 

the performance and reliability of their logistics systems. In contrast, for 

our system, we have now reduced the time from order-to-receipt for items 

from thirty-six days to twenty-two days with a confidence level of around 

60 percent and a spread that goes out to two years sometimes. That’s simply 

not world-class performance, and it costs us much too much. We spend over 

$80 billion a year on our logistics system. We have an inventory of over $60 

billion, of which probably half of it is even useful. Logistics cost reductions 

and efficiency improvements would have a huge impact on our readiness. 

Although Paul Ignatius started us down the path of readiness enhancement 

with his alternative procurement contracting methods, we’re still struggling 

to take full advantage of the available technology.

Let me quickly run through the last four of these. The maintenance 

of long-term investment in science and technology is my seventh area 

of concern. I really do worry that we’re eating our seed corn because the 

Defense Department needs to continue to invest in science and technology, 

and one of the areas that the services continue to try to steal from in order to 

pay for today’s modernization is tomorrow’s modernization. We can’t afford 

to do that. So in some ways, that is one of the fronts that OSD has to keep 

fighting on.

The eighth one is the defense industry. Here the government, when 

it used to have nine or eight suppliers of airplanes, could simply sit back 

and say, “We’ll hold a competition and we’ll get some bids. We’ll get 

four or five bids, and that will make competition, and the government 

doesn’t have to really create a market or worry about the structure of the 

market because the conduct and performance of the market will follow 

from its structure.” Today that structure is dramatically different. Now the 

government is the monopoly buyer, the sole buyer, when you have maybe 

two suppliers and in some cases, even up to three at maximum, and in many 

cases, even one, the government now—responsibility changes dramatically. 

The government has to assure an innovative, competitive, healthy defense 

industrial base, and that means worrying about the structure of the industry. 

If you have two companies that represent most of the expertise in one 

defense manufacturing area, and one of them wins contracts two or three 

times in a row, what happens to the loser?

Splitting the buy or dividing the contract is not the way to maintain the 

industrial base. That’s grossly inefficient. The way to do it is to make sure 

that the loser has some kind of sustaining R&D contract to develop the next 

generation of technology so you can preserve competition. The point here is 
round table discussion 391

that the government has to remain concerned about the state of the industrial 

base, and take steps to preserve it.

I think there are two ways to solve the problem. The first is to promote 

more civil-military integration, to find more defense uses of commercial 

product lines. We’ve found that when we tried this approach, we got 30 

percent to 50 percent savings just from the overhead absorption. Another 

way to address this problem is to make better use of the international 

market. Promote competition between U.S. firms and foreign firms. We’re 

doing that with the sale of landing gears right now. We have one U.S. firm; 

we have one foreign firm. The foreign firm happens to be French-owned 

and builds the landing gears in Canada. Both companies are competing on 

the Joint Strike Fighter. That’s good competition, taking advantage of a 

world market.

The ninth area of concern is the excess infrastructure. I believe that 

we can get billions of dollars out of that infrastructure. Base closures are 

obviously one of the essential steps. Even where you don’t have base 

closures, we ought to be able to competitively source any work that isn’t, 

by its nature, the exclusive domain of the government. We literally have 

thousands of people working in capacities that should be competitively 

sourced. I’m not interested in whether the government wins the work or 

the private sector wins work. The data are overwhelming that when you 

have competition, you get better performance at lower cost. Sole source in 

industry or government doesn’t make a lot of sense, and so we should be 

doing much more competitive sourcing.

That means changing the A–76 regulation so the sourcing conversion 

process can be done in less than two years and still be fair and transparent. 

But we can have enormous impact here, and this is another area of the 

initiatives of the president. It would extend all the way into things like 

privatized housing, a lot of other areas where you can gain some huge 

benefits. And you probably are aware there’s something like to $20 billion 

to $30 billion in backlog in housing alone in the DoD that’s substandard, and 

it’s not budgeted. The only way you can correct that is through privatized 

housing, and that’s a readiness, morale issue that’s a very serious problem.

And my last area and the one that everyone is focused on and needs to 

be focused on is the acquisition workforce itself. Now here I think the role 

of the government is changing dramatically from the doer to the manager of 

the doers, and the more we do privatization and partnering and contracting 

out, competitive sourcing, whatever, I think we need different types of 

workforce.

I think this can be more shifting from government and industry back 

and forth so they see both perspectives. I think you need a different skill 
392 Providing the Means of War

mix definitely. Significant changes in the universities has taken place, 

Defense Acquisition University, Defense Systems Management College, 

more case-based and web-based education.

There’s a whole training and development program that’s required 

to keep up with these changes that are taking place monthly in terms of 

technology, in terms of warfighting, in terms of geopolitics and so forth, 

that we have to get into our educational system. So it’s not a matter of 

sending twenty people to a class at the Defense Systems Management 

College; it’s a matter of bringing the 300,000 people who are involved in 

the acquisition process up to date every year. This means providing at least 

forty hours of advanced education for every one of them. We have to be 

willing to supply that.

I feel very strongly that these ten areas, when addressed in an integrated 

fashion, will really make a huge difference in the way we do business. 

These ten points have been examined by a variety of people in the last 

few years, and addressing those points will be our challenge in the next 

few years. Fortunately, the leadership of the institution recognizes the 

importance of these issues and understands the need to make changes. 

Continuity of the leadership will continue to promote change within the 

acquisition community. Unfortunately, the leadership is going to have to 

face institutional inertia—another kind of continuity—to change the culture 

of the institution.

Change is going to take leadership. Change management is the real 

challenge for the future. If we don’t make changes in these ten areas, I think 

we will have some very serious national security problems in the future.
Contributors

Dr. Donald R. Baucom, a 1962 graduate of the United States Air Force 

Academy, received his Ph.D. in the history of science from the University 

of Oklahoma in 1976. During his twenty-eight years in the Air Force, he 

earned the aeronautical rating of navigator, served as a communicationselectronics officer in Spain and Thailand, and taught military history for 

six years at the Air Force Academy, where he specialized in the interaction 

between science, technology, and warfare. He also served on the faculty of 

the Air War College; edited the Air University Review, forerunner of today’s 

Air and Space Power Journal; and served the last three years of his Air 

Force career as historian for the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization 

(SDIO), predecessor of today’s Missile Defense Agency. After retiring from 

the Air Force in 1990, he returned to federal service as the civil service 

historian for SDIO. Dr. Baucom’s book, The Origins of SDI: 1944–1983, 

was published by University Press of Kansas in 1992 and won the 1994 

Richard K. Leopold Prize (awarded every two years by the Organization 

of American Historians). In June 2003, he retired from federal service after 

serving a total of fifteen years as historian for the Defense Department’s 

missile defense program.

Dr. Linda Brandt is Professor and Chair of the Department of 

Acquisition at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces (ICAF), 

National Defense University. In that capacity she directs the college’s 

acquisition programs, including the Department of Defense’s Senior 

Acquisition Course. Prior to joining ICAF, Dr. Brandt served as a 

senior analyst at the Center for Naval Analyses, where she headed up 

acquisition studies for the Navy Secretariat. She has also worked as 

a management consultant for the firm of Touche Ross & Company, 

where her clients included a variety of major defense and non-defense 

manufacturing companies, and as a Special Assistant to the Chief of 

Naval Material, Department of the Navy. Before moving to Washington, 

D.C., she was a tenured associate professor of public policy at California 

State University, Long Beach. Dr. Brandt received her doctorate in 
394 Providing the Means of War

political science from the University of Colorado. Dr. Brandt has written 

extensively on acquisition issues, participated on a number of Defense 

Science Board, National Academy of Sciences, and Atlantic Council 

studies, and testified as an expert witness before Congress. Her work 

includes articles and studies on NATO capabilities, defense industry 

globalization, leading change in the acquisition system, technology 

management, and other acquisition and public policy related subjects. 

Dr. Shannon A. Brown holds a Ph.D. from the University of California 

at Santa Cruz, where his studies focused on the history of technology and 

modern world history. Since the late 1990s, Dr. Brown has worked in 

and around Washington, D.C., as a freelance historian. His clients have 

included the U.S. Air Force, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, and a number 

of private organizations and companies. Now under contract with the U.S. 

Army Center of Military History, Dr. Brown serves as a historian on the 

Defense Acquisition History Project. He is responsible for preparing an 

edited collection of primary documents on the history of defense acquisition 

that will be published as the sixth volume of the Defense Acquisition 

History series. Dr. Brown teaches graduate-level history courses on military 

technology and urban infrastructure as a visiting professor of Science and 

Technology Studies at Virginia Polytechnic and State University’s Northern 

Virginia Graduate Center.

Dr. Andrew J. Butrica earned a Ph.D. in history of technology and science 

from Iowa State University in 1986. After spending a year at the Thomas A. 

Edison Papers Project and a year at the Center for Research in the History of 

Science and Technology in Paris, he began working as a historical consultant. 

Dr. Butrica has researched and written Out of Thin Air (1990), a history of 

Air Products and Chemicals, Inc., a Fortune 500 firm, and To See the Unseen

(1996), a history of planetary radar astronomy, which won the Leopold 

Prize of the Organization of American Historians, and he edited Beyond the 

Ionosphere (1997), a history of satellite communications. More recently, 

he was the historian on NASA’s X–33 program, for which he wrote a book 

manuscript, Single Stage To Orbit: Politics, Space Technology, and the Quest 

for Reusable Rocketry, published by the Johns Hopkins University Press 

in November 2003. Currently, Dr. Butrica is a consultant on the Defense 

Acquisition History Project. He is responsible for researching and writing 

Volume IV, From the Reagan Buildup to the End of the Cold War, 1981–1990.

Dr. Martin J. Collins is a curator in the Space History Division, National 

Air and Space Museum, Smithsonian Institution. He has served as head 
contributors 395

of the Space History Division’s Oral History Project, organizing two 

major oral history initiatives: the Glennan-Webb-Seamans Project for 

Research in Space History and the RAND History Project. His recent 

publications include Cold War Laboratory: RAND, the Air Force, and the 

American State (2002) and an exhibit catalog, Space Race: The U.S–USSR 

Competition to Reach the Moon.

Dr. Elliott V. Converse III is a retired Air Force officer who holds a 

doctorate in history from Princeton University. His last assignment while 

on active duty was as commander of the Air Force Historical Research 

Agency. He also served on the faculties of the USAF Academy and the Air 

War College and he worked in the Strategy Division of the Joint Chiefs 

of Staff. Dr. Converse is the principal author of The Exclusion of Black 

Soldiers from the Medal of Honor in World War II (1997), the editor of 

Forging the Sword: Selecting, Educating, and Training Cadets and Junior 

Officers in the Modern World (1998), and the author of United States Plans 

for a Postwar Overseas Military Base System, 1942–1948, to be published 

by Air University Press. He is currently under contract to research and write 

Volume I (1945–1958) of the official history of Department of Defense 

acquisition.

Dr. B.F. Cooling is currently the Chair of the Department of Grand Strategy 

and Mobilization at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces, National 

Defense University. Long a student of the historical dimensions of militaryindustrial relations, he has written extensively on the antecedents of this 

subject, and he teaches on the strategic resourcing aspects of national 

security strategy.

Dr. James H. Edgar earned a Ph.D. in history from the University of 

Virginia in 1972. He was also a graduate of Central Oklahoma State 

University (1976, Master of Business Administration, summa cum laude); 

National Defense University (Master of Science, 1996); and a Senior 

Executive Fellow at the John F. Kennedy School of Government, Harvard 

University (1993). A career civil servant, Dr. Edgar became director of U.S. 

Army Procurement Policy and Acquisition Reform in June 1999. Before 

that, he served in a variety of contracting and acquisition management 

and reform positions. Dr. Edgar came to the Army as the Deputy Assistant 

Director of the Army Acquisition Corps in 1991 and was responsible for 

developing policies and programs to implement the Defense Acquisition 

Workforce Improvement Act (DAIWA). Prior to this appointment, Dr. 

Edgar served as the Deputy Director, Acquisition Education, Training and 
396 Providing the Means of War

Career Development in the Office of the Secretary of Defense. He was 

a Congressional Fellow of the American Political Science Association 

in 1988–1989, and he helped draft the landmark Defense Acquisition 

Workforce Improvement Act (DAWIA). During his twenty-nine years of 

government service, Dr. Edgar served with the Navy, Air Force, and Army, 

and spent over half of his career working in contracting positions at every 

organizational level.

Col. Thomas P. Ehrhard is Professor of Strategy and Policy at the Air 

University’s School of Advanced Air and Space Studies (SAASS), the 

Air Force’s premier school for air- and space-power strategists. He is a 

master missile and space operator who served as a Minuteman III combat 

crewmember and on various headquarters staffs where he specialized 

in targeting nuclear weapons. A distinguished graduate from the Air 

Command and Staff and SAASS graduate, he went on to earn his Ph.D. in 

International Relations at Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International 

Studies while serving an internship with Andrew Marshall at the secretary 

of Defense’s Office of Net Assessment. Colonel Ehrhard then worked in 

key Air Staff assignments in the Pentagon, including one as chief of the 

famed “Skunk Works” (Strategy, Concepts, and Doctrine Division) and as a 

division chief on the Air Force’s Quadrennial Defense Review staff. Before 

arriving at Maxwell AFB for his current assignment, Colonel Ehrhard 

served as the Chief of the CENTAF Strategy Division at the Combined 

Air Operations Center in Prince Sultan Air Base, Saudi Arabia during the 

opening months of Operation ENDURING FREEDOM.

Dr. J. Ronald Fox is a member of the Harvard Business School faculty, 

where he has taught courses in defense and aerospace project management 

and marketing, competition and strategy, and business-government 

relations. His research deals with the management of large engineering 

development and construction projects. He holds a BS degree, cum laude, in 

physics from LeMoyne College, and MBA and Ph.D. degrees from Harvard 

University. In June 2001 he received the Harvard Business School award for 

Faculty Distinguished Service. Dr. Fox has served as assistant secretary of 

the Army, where he was senior Army official responsible for procurement, 

contracting, logistics, and installations. Prior to his appointment as assistant 

secretary, he served as deputy assistant secretary of the Air Force. His 

work in these governmental positions earned him the Exceptional Civilian 

Service Award from the Air Force and the Distinguished Civilian Service 

Award, the highest decoration for public service awarded by the Department 

of the Army. He is author of several articles and books, including: The 
contributors 397

Defense Management Challenge: Weapons Acquisition, Harvard Business 

School Press; Arming America: How the U.S. Buys Weapons, Harvard 

University Press; Managing Business Government Relations, Richard D. 

lrwin, Inc; and Critical Issues in the Defense Acquisition Culture, Defense 

Systems Management College. Dr. Fox was selected for the 1989 Award for 

Excellence by the American Society of Military Comptrollers for his article 

on “Reforming the Defense Acquisition Process,” appearing in the Fall 1989 

issue of the U.S. GAO Journal.

Dr. Timothy L. Francis has been a historian in the Ship’s History Branch 

of the U.S. Naval Historical Center in Washington, D.C., since 1992. He 

received his bachelor’s degree in European history from Hobart College 

and a master’s in European history from the University of Connecticut. He 

received his Ph.D. in military history from the University of Maryland in 

August 2001 with the completion of his dissertation, “Poseidon’s Tribute: 

Maritime Vulnerability, Industrial Mobilization and the Allied Defeat of the 

U-boats, 1939–1945.” Since March 2003, Dr. Francis has been assigned to 

the U.S. Navy’s Task Force History, assisting in the collection, organization, 

and exploitation of records relating to Operation IRAQI FREEDOM. In 

addition to serving as an active reservist in the U.S. Navy, Dr. Francis has 

also presented several papers at conferences, published numerous book 

reviews, and taught courses at Georgetown University and the University of 

Maryland. 

Dr. Jacques S. Gansler is currently a professor and the Roger C. Lipitz 

Chair in Public Policy and Private Enterprise at the University of Maryland’s 

School of Public Affairs. From 1997 to 2001, he was the undersecretary 

of Defense for Acquisition, Technology and Logistics, during which time 

he was responsible for all matters relating to Department of Defense 

acquisition, research and development, logistics, acquisition reform, 

advanced technology, international programs, environmental security, 

nuclear, chemical, and biological programs, and the defense technology and 

industrial base. Prior to this appointment, Dr. Gansler was executive vice 

president and director for TASC, Inc., an applied information technology 

company located in Arlington, Virginia. Prior to 1977, he was deputy 

assistant secretary of Defense (Materiel Acquisition); assistant director of 

Defense Research and Engineering (Electronics); and he held management 

positions at I.T.T., Singer Corporation, and Raytheon Corporation. Dr. 

Gansler has served on numerous special committees and advisory boards, 

and he served as a senior consultant to the Packard Commission on Defense 

Acquisition Reform. He is the author of Defense Conversion: Transforming 
398 Providing the Means of War

the Arsenal of Democracy (1995); Affording Defense (1991); and The 

Defense Industry (1982). From 1984 to 1997, Dr. Gansler was also a Visiting 

Scholar at the Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University. He is 

an honorary professor, Industrial College of the Armed Forces; and formerly 

was a visiting professor at the University of Virginia. Dr. Gansler graduated 

from Yale University (BE); Northeastern University (MS/EE); New School 

for Social Research (MA/Political Economy); and American University 

(Ph.D./Economics).

Dr. W. Blair Haworth, Jr. has been a historian with the U.S. Army Center 

of Military History since August 2001. He is the author of The Bradley 

and How It Got That Way: Technology, Institutions, and the Problem 

of Mechanized Infantry in the United States Army (1999), from which 

the article in this volume is substantially drawn, as well as a variety of 

encyclopedia articles on topics in military history and the history of 

technology. In addition to working for the Army, Dr. Haworth has been a 

contractor for the American Maritime History Project, the Army Corps of 

Engineers, and the Office of Technology Assessment, and has worked on 

the staffs of the Duke and Harvard University libraries. He holds a Ph.D. 

in history from Duke University (1995), an AM in the history of science 

from Harvard University (1987), and a BA with honors in history from the 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (1984).

Paul R. Ignatius, a former secretary of the Navy, is a native of Los Angeles, 

California. He graduated with honors and Phi Beta Kappa membership from 

the University of Southern California in 1942. He received a master’s degree 

in business administration from Harvard University in 1947, and served 

on the staff of the Harvard Business School from1947–1950 as a research 

associate and instructor. With two Harvard Business School associates, he 

was a founder of Harbridge House. Inc., a management consulting firm 

in Massachusetts, serving as vice president and director. In this capacity, 

over a period of eleven years, he directed a number of important projects 

in the fields of procurement and logistics for the Department of Defense 

and the individual military services. Mr. Ignatius served for eight years in 

the administrations of Presidents Kennedy and Johnson. Appointed first as 

an assistant secretary of the Army in 1961, he was made under secretary in 

1964. In 1965, he was appointed assistant secretary of Defense (Installations 

and Logistics). In September of 1967, he was named secretary of the Navy 

and served in that position until January 1969. Following his government 

service, Mr. Ignatius became president of The Washington Post, holding 

that position until November 1971. In February of 1972, he joined the Air 
contributors 399

Transport Association and served as president for a fifteen-year period until 

his retirement in July 1986. 

Dr. Paul G. Kaminski (BS, U.S. Air Force Academy; MS, aeronautical 

engineering and electrical engineering, Massachusetts Institute of 

Technology; Ph.D., aeronautics and astronautics, Stanford University) 

served as under secretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology 

from 3 October 1994 to 16 May 1997. Before taking this position, he had 

a distinguished twenty-year career as an officer in the U.S. Air Force; 

between 1981 and 1984, he served as director for Low Observables 

Technology, directing the development, production, and fielding of major 

stealth systems. Prior to that appointment, he served as special assistant 

to the under secretary of Defense for Research and Engineering and also 

managed the development of a National Reconnaissance Office space 

system and sensor technology program. He has served as a consultant and 

advisor to a wide variety of government agencies and as a director and 

trustee of several defense and technology-oriented companies. 

Dr. John Lonnquest received his Ph.D. in history from Duke University in 

1996. He has written and edited several books on missile development and 

anti-ballistic missile defense. Currently, he is a historian with the U.S. Army 

Corps of Engineers in Alexandria, Virginia. 

Lt. Col. Ross T. McNutt (Ph.D. in Technology, Management, and Policy, 

Massachusetts Institute of Technology) is an instructor at the Air Force’s 

Air Command and Staff College. Previously, Lt. Col. McNutt was assigned 

to the Secretary of the Air Force for Acquisition at the Pentagon in 

Washington, D.C. While there, Lt. Col. McNutt developed, coordinated, and 

executed acquisition reform efforts for the Air Force and the Department 

of Defense. Lt. Col. McNutt was the director of the Air Force Cycle Time 

Reduction Program, which aimed to reduce the acquisition response 

time, the time required to develop and field new and modified weapon 

systems. He developed and worked to implement a comprehensive set of 

actions including establishing time-based requirements, institutionalizing 

evolutionary acquisition approaches, correcting and enhancing schedulebased incentives, developing schedule development and evaluation tools, 

and implementing effective project portfolio management practices. He 

adapted the commercial Cost of Delay Analysis for defense products and 

developed new methods for rapid development and fielding of operational 

initiatives through the establishment of an Air Force Warfighter Rapid 

Acquisition Process.
400 Providing the Means of War

Dr. Mark L. Montroll is a Professor of Acquisition at the National Defense 

University’s Industrial College of the Armed Forces. He teaches courses 

in defense acquisition and research and technology policy. In addition, he 

is the course director for the Shipbuilding Industry Study and manager 

for an annual international exchange program with the Center for Higher 

Education – Armaments (CHEAr) in Paris. Before joining the faculty of the 

Industrial College of the Armed Forces, Dr. Montroll served as the Director 

of Innovative Technology Initiatives for the Carderock Division of the 

Naval Surface Warfare Center.

Dr. Walton S. Moody received an AB degree from Princeton University 

and MA and Ph.D. degrees from Duke University. His dissertation was on 

military conscription in the Napoleonic empire. After active duty with the 

Army, including a tour of duty in Vietnam, he served as a civilian historian 

with the Air Force at Headquarters Strategic Air Command, Headquarters 

USAFE, and at the Air Force History Office, retiring after twenty-eight 

years. He is the author of Building a Strategic Air Force (1996) and a 

contributor to Winged Sword, Winged Shield (1997). He is currently a 

member of the Defense Acquisition History Project team, assigned to 

research and write Volume III, Retrenchment and Reform, 1969–1980.

Dr. Walter S. Poole received his BA from Princeton University in 1964 and 

his Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania in 1968. He began working 

for the JCS Historical Division in 1968, served in the Army during 1968–

70, then returned to the Pentagon. He remained with that organization, 

which became the Joint History Office in 1993, until his retirement as chief 

of the Histories Branch in December 2000. He wrote volumes in The JCS 

and National Policy series covering 1950–1952, 1961–1968, and 1973–

1976; he co-authored volumes covering 1957–1960 and 1969–1972 as well 

as The JCS and the War in Vietnam, 1971–73 and The Chairmanship of the 

JCS. He is currently under contract with the U.S. Army as a member of the 

Defense Acquisition History Project team, responsible for researching and 

writing Volume II of the acquisition history book series, which examines 

defense acquisition during 1958–1969.

Dr. Philip L. Shiman received a BA in history from Yale University and a 

Ph.D. in history from Duke University. After a postdoctoral fellowship with 

the International Security Program at Yale in 1991–1992, he worked for 

Duke as research associate on a historical study of the Defense Advanced 

Research Project Agency’s Strategic Computing Initiative. Dr. Shiman then 

spent four years as a senior analyst at the Center for Security Strategies and 
contributors 401

Operations before joining the Defense Acquisition History Project in April 

2001. He is author of Forging the Sword: Defense Production During the 

Cold War (1997); Strategic Computing: DARPA and the Quest for Machine 

Intelligence, 1983–1993 (with Alex Roland, 2001); and Engineering 

Sherman’s March: Army Engineers and the Civil War in the West, 1861–

1865 (forthcoming), as well as three chapters for the comprehensive history 

of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (in progress). He is currently writing 

Volume V of the acquisition history, covering the post-Cold War era from 

1989 to the present. 

Dr. Gary E. Weir, a leading expert on submarines, is historian of Science 

and Technology at the U.S. Naval Historical Center and an adjunct 

professor of history, University of Maryland (University College). 

He has authored several books, including Forged in War: The NavalIndustrial Complex and American Submarine Construction, 1940–1961 

(1993), winner of the Roosevelt Prize for Naval History; and An Ocean in 

Common: American Naval Officers, Scientists, and the Ocean Environment 

(2001), 2002 recipient of the Organization of American Historian’s Richard 

W. Leopold Prize.