At the outbreak of World War II, Mr. Hubbard was commissioned as a lieutenant (junior grade) in the US Navy and served as a commander of corvettes. He saw action in both the Atlantic and Pacific, and thoroughly distinguished himself in the eyes of those who served beneath him. Yet he was not a man who enjoyed war, and having seen enough killing to last him a lifetimeand the effects of that bloodshed on mens sanityhe vowed to redouble his efforts to create a saner world. With this same sense of compassion, he also did all he could to safeguard his crews, prompting one of his men to write:
I feel I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude. First for your acquaintance. Secondly because you have portrayed to me all the attributes of a `story book naval officer. I can see for myself that you were an officer and a gentleman long before Congress decided so.
I n 1945, left partially blind with injured optic nerves and lame from hip and back injuries, Mr. Hubbard was hospitalized at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital in Oakland, California. Among the 5,000 naval and Marine Corps patients at Oak Knoll were hundreds of former American prisoners liberated from Japanese camps on South Pacific islands. Many were in terrible condition from starvation and other causes, unable to assimilate protein.