Pariah at the Pentagon

By GEORGE J. CHURCH

Franklin Charles Spinney not only does not appear dangerous, he does not even seem readily distinguishable from hordes of other bureaucrats. His round, smiling face and well-brushed hair rather give him the look of a 37-year-old Charlie Brown. His drab office on Corridor C2 of the Pentagon differs from innumerable others only in that it is piled somewhat higher with computer printouts. He speaks coolly, even diffidently, and writes in the most leaden Pentagonese (sample: "It is obvious that the cumulative effect of these political externalities has not been able to generate a growth pattern that is compatible with the growth pattern in our plans"). The most vivid words one colleague can find to describe him are "dogged and thorough."

In Spinney's case this is another way of saying that he possesses two qualities rare in bureaucrats, or indeed anyone: a willingness to follow his logic wherever it may lead, and an insistence on spelling out his conclusions even when they drive his bosses to sputtering fury. Those qualities have made Spinney so troublesome in the eyes of his superiors that they have repeatedly tried to muzzle and several times to fire him.

The combined role of mystery man and maverick was not one that Chuck Spinney sought, or especially welcomed. Says Defense Analyst Pierre Sprey, whose reform theories have influenced Spinney's thinking: "He is an involuntary iconoclast." Spinney protests that he is no enemy of military spending; he just wants the nation to get value for its dollar. Says he: "My view is that our country has to be strong and that we have to have the military assets to ensure that strength." He adds a bit plaintively: "People have the idea that I'm out to find things wrong with the system, but that's just part of my job. There's no point in working on things that everyone agrees on, because that's not where the problems lie."

At the same time, Spinney does not shrink from his new role. He has the kind of mind that quickly sees patterns in columns of numbers, and he thinks fast on his feet. Above all, he has confidence in his conclusions.

Spinney has been developing such traits ever since his 1967 graduation from Lehigh University in Pennsylvania as an engineer. He joined the Air Force and was assigned to a team at Ohio's Wright-Patterson Air Force Base that analyzed why U.S. planes were shot down so often over Viet Nam. He did so well that the Air Force sent him to Florida Tech to get an M.B.A., then posted him to the Pentagon in 1972 as one of the youngest officers ever to join the research and development team of the service's Deputy Chief of Staff.

Spinney's boss was the now legendary Colonel John Boyd, a rebel so fierce in his beliefs that he was sometimes called "the mad colonel." Boyd organized the so-called Fighter Mafia, a group of officers who insisted that the service ought to develop a lightweight, fairly simple, relatively inexpensive combat plane. Boyd taught Spinney that the cost and complexity of weapons are no accurate guide to their performance in combat. But clear thinking like Boyd's was rare in the Air Force bureaucracy. Tired of running into intellectual brick walls--and afraid that some of his superiors wanted him to cover up the shortcomings of a new airplane--Spinney abruptly resigned his commission in July 1975. For all his outward imperturbability, associates say, he has a powder-keg temper that can be ignited by frustration--though only behind closed doors.

After working for a year and a half as a consultant to a Maryland firm specializing in defense issues, he accepted an invitation to rejoin the Pentagon as an analyst in the Program Analysis and Evaluation office. That office was originally set up by Robert McNamara to provide hard-eyed advice about whether the weapons plans of the armed services really made sense. Spinney says he was attracted to the Analysis and Evaluation office because of the chance to work with Boyd again.

His first notable analysis, Defense Facts of Life, was suppressed until Democratic Senator Sam Nunn of Georgia, who had heard of it, insisted that it be declassified. Spinney professes still not to understand the furor that it kicked off; he had intended it only to enable his superiors to make more intelligent decisions. Says he: "I had no idea what was going to happen."

Spinney is now a beleaguered figure. He has been taken off broad program analysis and assigned to study nitpicking details. He has been told not to discuss his theories with colleagues. Whether he has enough outside interests to sustain him is doubtful. Apart from admitting a passion for sailing, he will not discuss his personal life in any detail, apparently viewing it as irrelevant to the costs of weapons systems. He is divorced from his first wife, who got custody of their two children, and is remarried to a computer specialist named Alison who has borne him two more youngsters. His answer to what he does next is a simple "I don't know. This is what I do best." His tone implies that he is fully prepared to leave the Pentagon again rather than shut up about his convictions.

By George J. Church. Reported by Christopher Redman/Washington

With reporting by Christopher Redman This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.