By John Hunka, Lieutenant (Junior Grade), USN (1970-1974)

Forty-five seconds! It was over in less than a minute. I guess you can say my interview with Admiral Rickover was a success since I was accepted into the nuclear power program. I was not even in the Navy at the time of the interview and had not taken my oath when I was brought face-to-face with the Navy’s most feared, most hated, and most infamous haranguer of candidates known. Pretty heady stuff for a naïve young hick from San Angelo, Texas who had been out of the state only once in his life.

For my short interview to make any sense, I must start about a six months before the interview. It was early 1969 and I was in my senior year of electrical engineering at the University of Texas at Austin. I was to graduate in January of the next year and had done very well academically. I wanted to go to graduate school and was making plans to do so when the US government threw a large wrench into the works.

The government had recently announced that it was instituting a new system for conducting the draft. The Vietnam war was at its peak in 1969 and the draft system was rife with corruption and inequities—many affluent educated men were able to avoid the draft but lots of poor uneducated ones could not. To rectify the situation, a lottery system was put into place whereby a drawing of all birthdates would be done and put into order until all 366 dates were drawn. Anyone with a birthday on the first date would be the first to be drafted until all eligible men with that birthdate had been selected and then they moved on to the next date.

Many guys in my class, including my roommate, were willing to take the chance of not getting a date near the top of the list. I, on the other hand, knew what rotten luck I had when it came to chance. My draft board was no help when I asked what my options were for going to graduate school: they said there would be no problem enrolling but immediately upon graduating with the bachelor’s degree, I would be classified 1A, i.e., eligible for the draft.

I drove home to San Angelo in early April to ask my father’s advice. Dad had been the first man in San Angelo to enlist in the Navy on December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and served on both oceans during the war. I half expected a gung-ho reply when he simply said “Do not let Uncle Sam decide where you go or what you do.” Sometimes my dad really amazed me. With that advice he was saying use what you have earned (my education) to make the best of the situation.

In an instant I knew what I had to do. I was too conservative to take a chance on the lottery (a good thing since my birthdate turned out to be number 91). I decided to use my soon-to-be-awarded degree to become an officer in the Navy where I would have far more options than as an enlisted man or worse as a draftee.
The next day I drove back to Austin and immediately went to the Navy recruiting office downtown. I spoke with a lieutenant who asked me a bunch of questions and answered mine. I expressed interest in going to pilot training but he said that all quotas for pilots were full. He then asked the question: “Ever hear about nuclear power?” He said with my engineering degree I would be a good candidate for the nuclear navy. As soon as I said I was interested, I had tickets to go to Washington D.C. to be interviewed by Vice Admiral H. G. Rickover.

I flew to Washington DC and found the hotel. The next morning we had been instructed to walk to Main Navy (typical Rickover) and I met up with a bunch of young men like myself but they were in uniform. I began to feel self-conscious when I realized that I was the only one in civilian clothes. It turns out most nuclear power candidates come from the Naval Academy or ROTC programs. A civilian candidate was a rarity. One of my most vivid memories is of the Main Navy building and how dirty and run down it was. Again, typical Rickover.

We were instructed that we were to be interviewed by three of Rickover’s people before we saw him. The first interview was with a very nice commander who put me at ease and got to know me better apart from what was on the fact sheet. The second interviewer dealt with technical matters. I was given an integral to evaluate which I nailed. I was feeling very smug about myself after this interview. The third interviewer turned out to be my worst nightmare; apart from the Admiral.

I walked into the third interviewer’s office and sat down in a chair in front of his desk. His back was turned to me and he was reading something on his credenza. He was bald. I sat there for what seemed an eternity when he swiveled around, looked me in the eyes and said “What are you doing here?” I was so befuddled that I stammered out some idiotic answer and from then on I do not remember much at all. I recall the conversation going from bad to worse. I remember sensing he thought I was trying to pull a fast one. In retrospect, I am certain I mentioned to some of the previous interviewers my desire to make the most out of my draft situation and that military service had not been in my plans until forced on me.

Shaken and confused I rejoined the others in a large waiting room. It was some comfort that most of them looked shaken and confused. It was probably two hours before a name was called to see the Admiral. In a short time, we saw the candidate being escorted down a hallway but not to rejoin us. This lead to all sorts of horrible thoughts. All of a sudden, my name was called, “Hunka!”.

I walked down a dank hallway and ushered into an office where I took the chair next to the Admiral’s desk. (Most Rickover stories I have read talk about the chair being in front of his desk and maybe it was for me, but I recall it being on the side.) In an instant Rickover looks up at me and asked: “What percent personal gain and what percent patriotism went into your decision to apply for this program?” In the years since that day I have come up with hundreds of intelligent and pithy answers to that question, but on that day all I came up with was “About 50–50.” Even I would yell at me for such a stupid answer; you can imagine Rickover’s response. He started blustering at me that my answer was a “non-thinking” answer and that I should reconsider the amounts. I was completely out of my league with this guy and knew it and I gave another stupid answer: “60–40.”

“Which part is 60 and which part is 40?” Rickover asked, his voice rising. I say “I suppose 60% personal gain.” Rickover looked disgusted, said something to the effect “I thought so” and threw me out of his office.

The whole process could not have taken longer than a minute and shortly I was being escorted down a hall by one of his staff. I was sure that I was not going to be accepted and I was in a state of shock. If I didn’t get in, what were my options with flying and nuclear power not available? Luckily, I did not have to face that dilemma. I was informed that I had been accepted; to my total astonishment.

I remember nothing about the trip home