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Gibbs's liking for his work dates back to the age of three, when he began drawing boat pictures. When he grew up he went to Harvard. His father, a Philadelphia industrial promoter who had once been worth some 15 millions and had lost and recouped several fortunes, lost another one at about that time, leaving Willie stranded. But William Francis put himself the rest of the way through college, then took a law degree at Columbia, which was later to come in handy in preparing ironbound contracts.
During World War I his connections and budding ability got him a job on the Shipping Control Committee, along with Brother Frederick. From there the Brothers Gibbs launched out into the field of ship designing, finally set up an office on lower Broadway. Some years later they formed a partnership with Daniel Hargate Cox, well-known yacht designer. Mr. Cox lent luster then. Now 70-year-old Mr. Cox's forte is no longer the firm's mainstay. He is now busy with Navy maintenance work. Business head of the firm is still Frederick.
Old-line shipbuilders frankly resented Gibbs. Mr. Gibbs did not care. He was frankly critical of their methods and the ships they were building. One of his firm beliefs was the necessity of multiple compartmentation and automatic sliding doors in bulkheads to make ships as unsinkable as was humanly possible. He was deeply impressed by the tragedy of the Empress of Ireland, which had collided with a Norwegian collier in 1914 and with water pouring into her hold had capsized. He thought such accidents need not be.
He got his chance to prove it when he designed the Malolo, a luxury ship of the Matson Line, and a heaven-sent chance to watch a test case of his theory. On the Malolo's trial run, 26 miles off Nantucket, another Norwegian freighter appeared out of the fog and, as the fascinated Mr. Gibbs watched, crashed into the Malolo amidship. Into the pilothouse rushed Gibbs. He pushed the buttons to operate the sliding bulkhead doors, which should close off the shattered compartment and keep the sea from flooding and sinking the Malolo. Down into the hold he plunged. Green water was pouring in. He waded to the bulkhead door. It was still open. As he got there it began to close. It shut tight. The Malolo triumphantly floated.
There were some lean years for the firm in a land that had apparently forgotten all about ships and shipping. Gibbs & Cox designed the world's largest yacht, the Savarona, for the late Mrs. Richard M. Cadwalader, equipped it as ordered with public-address system, mother-of-pearl inlaid bathrooms, gold-plated doorknobs. They also designed the Santa boats for the Grace Line. But not until the U.S. Government decided to embark on a destroyer program did Gibbs & Cox really get under way.
High Pressure. William Francis was an advocate of high-pressure, high-temperature propulsion. The Navy squinted at his plans for its proposed 364 class of destroyers, finally gave him the order. Many a Navy man is ready to admit now that Gibbs was years ahead in his thinking. Many a Navy man admits now that if the high-pressure steam propulsion, which Gibbs had worked out with five U.S. manufacturers,* had not been adopted, the U.S. would have to fight its naval battles today with outmoded warships.