“San Francisco, January 15, 1911 – Rear Admiral Chauncey M. Thomas, Commander of the Second Squadron of the Pacific Fleet, today relieved Rear Admiral Edward B. Barry as Commander-in-Chief of the Pacific Fleet, in pursuance of orders received from the Navy Department in Washington.” Thus began the article in The San Francisco Chronicle that led to the destruction of the hitherto stellar military career of Rear Admiral Edward Buttervant Barry. The article went on to report ominously that for several months the Admiral had been “the subject of much gossip. Stories reflecting seriously upon the character of the retiring admiral are being circulated.”
And that was enough to bring down the commander of the U.S. Navy’s Pacific Fleet—all apparently based upon innuendo as reported by Barry’s subordinate officers. The Chronicle excused the vagueness of its allegations by declaring that the scandal was of such a sensitive nature as “to forbid explicit statement in print.” So vulgar was the word “homosexual” that the polite Victorian standards of the day restricted the description of the Admiral’s wrongdoing as being “the same vice which caused the downfall of Oscar Wilde.” Wilde was convicted under British law of “gross indecency” and served a two-year sentence at hard labor. At the time, the “gross indecency” statute was used to prosecute gays. The term “gross indecency” was not clear defined, nor did the law require the accused to be caught performing any specific sexual act—simply evincing “sexual invert” behavior was sufficient grounds for prosecution. The U.S. military equivalent is the catchall term “conduct unbecoming,” which can include from lying to “moral turpitude.” The Chronicle uses the phrase “moral conduct” and refers repeatedly to the “moral character” of the accused.
Simultaneous with the public disclosure, the Department of the Navy sent “urgent orders” to Rear Admiral Chauncey W. Thomas, commander of the second squadron of the Pacific fleet, to proceed at once to San Francisco from Santa Barbara in his flagship the USS California. Admiral Thomas was ordered to relieve Admiral Barry of the command of the Pacific fleet.
The event that had prompted the uproar occurred when a junior officer discovered that a sailor was with the Admiral in his quarters aboard the USS West Virginia when it was docked in San Francisco Bay. The ship’s captain and executive officer confronted Barry and demanded the 62-year-old Admiral’s immediate resignation. Though not specific, newspaper accounts suggested the event was not the first incident involving the Admiral’s sexual peccadilloes, claiming “Admiral Barry has been practically ostracized by the officers of the Pacific fleet for a considerable time.” The Chronicle claimed Barry “begged for mercy. He pleaded his years. He pleaded the honor of the service.” The confronting officers rebuffed Barry’s pleas and called a meeting of the Admiral’s staff in the ship’s wardroom. One junior officer proposed that a loaded revolver be sent to the Admiral’s room. “The suggestion,” said the Chronicle, conveyed the “sinister suggestion of one way out of the disgrace for the aged commander of the Pacific fleet.” It was decided to “adopt a less melodramatic course,” and a formal report was prepared and addressed to the Secretary of the Navy. The report included affidavits from five sailors alleging improper overtures by the Admiral. Following protocol, the report was given to the Admiral with the request that he forward it to Washington. The Admiral quashed the report. The officers, in turn, sent the report by mail to the Secretary of the Navy. The officers had sworn the matter to secrecy, but the Admiral’s Yeoman saw the report and told the crew what had happened. The Chronicle reported that “Officers bit their lips in silence as they watched groups of sailors laughing at the recital of the story.” So serious was the disclosure of the transgression that one of the officers suggested that the Secretary of the Navy should decommission the West Virginia and scatter its crew among other naval ships in an effort to diffuse knowledge of the scandal. Another officer pleaded with one Chronicle reporter to suppress the story, asserting that the honor of the Navy “could be better conserved by secrecy in such circumstances.” For his part, Admiral Barry declared that he would retire immediately “in order to prevent the publication of a story which, he believed, would do great harm to the Navy.” When asked about the accusations made against him the Admiral said: “It is founded on fact, but it is absolutely untrue.” According to Barry, there had been a football game between crewmembers of the West Virginia and USS Maryland “a good while ago.” One of the West Virginia players was “knocked out” and “threatened with congestion of the brain” and was “insensible for seven or eight hours.” The sailor recovered and the Admiral spoke to him on several occasions and inquired how he was getting along. The sailor told the Admiral that “he was better but that his head ached all the time.” On the night before the incident he was detailed as the sentry at the Admiral’s cabin door. “He was on duty here and I recognized him.” He told Barry that he “had fainted that day” and the Admiral had him examined by the ship’s doctor. The following evening the sailor was again on duty as sentry. “He came in here to make some reports, and I got to talking to him,” claimed Barry. He told the Admiral he wasn’t feeling much better. “He is a great big fellow. I asked him where his head hurt him, and I put my hand on the back of his head and felt for the place. He said that was where it was, and I passed my hand over his face two or three times and tapped him on the back two or three times. I said you must not play football under any circumstances. You must live a straight, upright and true life.” While this was going on, Barry said that a junior officer “was looking down through the skylight.” The lifting of the proscription against lesbian and gay service in our armed services has eliminated an attendant evil that has always accompanied the ban—unevenness of enforcement. As the multitude of gay and lesbian people who have served can attest, luck played a large part in successful (if not open) service. Sometimes it is wise to stop and take stock of how far the gay-lesbian struggle has come. The Barry controversy serves to show and put into historical perspective the contrast between society’s current attitudes and those of a hundred years ago. While many battles are yet to be fought and won, the Barry scandal footnotes just how far sexual politics has progressed. But long before “Don’t ask, don’t tell” and its demise, one’s rank also determined the severity of punishment. This often overlooked point is illustrated by the story of the unjust destruction of the stellar military career of Rear Admiral Edward Buttervant Barry. That the commander of the U.S. Navy’s Pacific Fleet was summarily ousted by his subordinates speaks volumes about the perceived severity of his crime. EDWARD BUTTERVANT BARRY was born in 1849 in New York City. He was the son of a Navy officer and graduated from the Naval Academy in 1869. He was married and the father of a son and a daughter. His wife Mary had died five years before the incident. His naval service had taken him around the world and included action during the Spanish-American War. He had been promoted to Rear Admiral in 1909. The day after the incident, Admiral Barry went ashore to attend mass. The Chronicle reported on the indignities that he began to experience. As he walked along the dock, fleet sailors clutching morning papers “smirked sideways” as he passed. Barry purchased a newspaper and read the story in the “light of a doorway of an East street saloon.” He told reporters accompanying him to church that the story was “a lie, a lie made out of whole cloth.” In tears, he asked aloud: “Why is it that a man in my position must always be the victim of any dirty story that is started?” As he entered the church he told reporters, “I’m going to pray for those who have slandered me. Before the living God I am incapable of such an awful thing.” On his return to the ship, Barry was once again confronted by indignities. Scores of smirking and laughing sailors refused to honor the Admiral as required by navy regulations: none came to attention or saluted him. When boarding the ship, the officer-of-the-watch refused to salute. In an effort to quash the story, navy authorities transferred all individuals involved in the scandal to the Mare Island Navy Hospital. Officials at the hospital refused to allow the sailors to be interviewed by the press. The following day, ceremonies commemorating the change of command were held aboard the West Virginia and California. Barry’s flag was hauled down as he relinquished command, while Chauncey W. Thomas’ “blue flag with its two white stars was run up on the California.” As Barry’s flag was lowered, only the West Virginia fired the traditional thirteen gun salute; the other three squadron cruisers guns remained silent. Barry suffered yet another snub when, contrary to custom, the captains of the fleet declined to row Admiral Barry ashore. Yet another slight occurred when Barry left aboard a launch and the custom of the ship’s men standing at attention was ignored by the officers. But the word of his departure passed by word of mouth and “every man down to the coal passers in the sinks hold, came on deck and cheered the Admiral as he left in the barge for shore.” Admiral Barry retired the same day from the Navy. By retiring early, he would be entitled to three-fourths of his pay as a pension. At the time, his salary was $7,645 (about $181,000 in 2011 dollars). The Secretary of the Navy accepted Barry’s resignation. However, the officers of the West Virginia insisted that he resign in a way that would effectively cut all retirement pay. Under the existing naval regulations, a person convicted of homosexual behavior “if an officer, would be liable to severe penalty of confinement not to exceed fifteen years [for each offense]and expulsion from naval service, cutting off all retirement pay.” According to the Chronicle, at the time of the scandal there was no record “of the trial of a naval officer under these conditions,” though many ordinary seamen had been convicted of conduct unbecoming and were serving time at hard labor, the paper acknowledged. After reading the report sent by the officers of the West Virginia to the Secretary of the Navy, President William Howard Taft demanded Barry’s immediate resignation. Confronted with the possibility of ninety years at hard labor, Barry resigned on January 27, 1911—eleven days after the story broke. The forced resignation cut off his pension. While never charged with a crime in civil court, the outcome was essentially the same. Barry lived another twenty years—dying in 1931 at age 89. His pension loss because of the forced resignation amounted to about $3 million in 2011 terms. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Primary Sources The New York Times: Daniel J. Demers is a writer based in the San Francisco Bay area. His hobby is researching and writing about 19th- and 20th-century events and personalities (see www.danieldemers.com).
The San Francisco Chronicle:
“Rear Admiral Barry Is Accused of Vice That Shocks the Navy.” January 15, 1911.
“Cruiser California in Port, Made Quick Trip from the South.” January 16, 1911.
“Officers Express Loyalty, But No Denial.” January 16, 1911.
“Six Sailors from West Virginia.” January 16, 1911.
“Meyers Asks for Report on Barry.” January 17, 1911.
“Admiral Thomas in Command of Fleet.” January 17, 1911.
“Says Admiral Barry Was Forced to Quit.” January 16, 1911.
“Barry is a New Yorker.” January 16, 1911.
“Barry Leaves Ship; Officers Ignore Him.” January 17, 1911.
“Taft Makes Barry Resign.” January 28, 1911.
