Telegram, Robert R. McCormick to Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King, Explanations for Chicago Tribune’s Article, June 10, 1942

Source: Telegram, Robert R. McCormick to Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King, Explanations for Chicago Tribune’s Article, June 10, 1942 Date: Jun 10, 1942 Archive: NARA, RG-60, Case File 146-7-23-25, box 1, file: “Serial 1, Feb. 1–June 11, 1942.” Collection: Secrecy And Leaks: When The U.S. Government Prosecuted The Chicago Tribune Oct 25, 2017

Editorial Analysis

Original analysis by the DriftSeas editorial desk. The complete primary-source document, transcribed from the National Security Archive scan, appears in full below.

A Wartime Leak, a Publisher’s Defense, and Admiral King’s Reaction

On June 10, 1942, Robert R. McCormick, the powerful publisher of the Chicago Tribune, sent a telegram to Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King, chief of naval operations, to explain a Tribune story that had just appeared about the Aleutian campaign. The telegram arrives at a moment when the United States was still reeling from the shock of Pearl Harbor and scrambling to keep the Pacific war effort under tight operational security. The newspaper’s article, based on a dispatch from Tribune correspondent Stanley Johnstone, hinted at an imminent Japanese attack on the Aleutian Islands—information that the Navy had not yet confirmed publicly. McCormick’s message is less a factual clarification than a diplomatic overture, seeking to reassure the Navy that the paper had acted responsibly and to defuse a potential breach of secrecy.

The telegram belongs to the broader episode of the Aleutian Islands campaign (June 1942–August 1943), the only theater of World War II fought on incorporated U.S. soil. In early June, Japanese forces occupied Attu and Kiska, threatening Alaska and forcing the Navy to scramble reinforcements. The United States could ill‑ afford any premature disclosure that might aid the enemy or undermine morale. Consequently, the Navy had instituted a strict “embargo” on operational details, and any leak was treated as a possible security violation. The Tribune story, which implied that the Navy could not hold Alaska, ran at 7 p.m. on June 9, a full hour before the Navy’s own public announcement of the Japanese advance. The timing sparked an immediate inquiry by the Office of Naval Intelligence and set the stage for a rare, high‑level correspondence between a civilian media magnate and the senior military commander.

McCormick’s telegram reveals several layers of intent. First, he acknowledges that he only learned of the story at 7 p.m., indicating that the article was not pre‑approved by the Navy. He then blames the “misunderstanding” on the Tribune’s managing editor, Charles Maloney, a former Rickenbacker pursuit pilot, suggesting that Maloney’s military background made him less sensitive to the proprieties of source attribution. By invoking Maloney’s wartime service, McCormick attempts to humanize the editorial decision and to frame the breach as an innocent error rather than a willful leak.

Second, McCormick emphasizes the article’s “credibility to the Navy,” its lack of actionable intelligence for the enemy, and its contribution to public morale. This language mirrors the Navy’s own public‑relations doctrine, which prized “information that bolsters morale without compromising operations.” He also highlights Johnstone’s “bona fides” and his restraint in not publishing details of Japanese movements until after the victory was announced, positioning the Tribune as a responsible partner in the war effort.

Third, the telegram is a request for a quick resolution. McCormick says he has dispatched Johnstone to Washington with “orders to tell you everything you wish to know,” and he offers direct contact with himself or Arthur Sears Henning, head of the Tribune’s Washington bureau. The tone is conciliatory, almost pleading, and reflects McCormick’s awareness of the political weight Admiral King carried. By addressing King personally and invoking shared wartime experience—“Having been thru war and battle, as you have…”—McCormick seeks to forge a personal rapport that might temper any punitive response.

The document’s significance lies in what it does not say. It offers no apology for the premature disclosure, nor does it acknowledge any internal editorial process that might have vetted the story. The absence of a firm commitment to future embargo compliance suggests that the Tribune calculated its editorial independence to outweigh the risk of naval censure, at least in the short term. Moreover, the telegram’s reliance on personal relationships underscores how, in the early months of the Pacific war, the boundaries between press, military, and political elites were still fluid, with informal networks often substituting for formal clearance mechanisms.

In the legacy of wartime censorship, this telegram is a rare glimpse of a publisher directly negotiating with a senior military commander. The episode foreshadows later, more systematic battles over press freedom, such as the 1945 New York Times case involving the “Manhattan Project” and the 1971 Pentagon Papers litigation. It also illustrates how the Aleutian campaign, though geographically remote, became a crucible for testing the limits of a free press in a total war environment. The telegram remains a valuable primary source for scholars examining the delicate dance between national security imperatives and the First Amendment during World War II.