Just an average Cold War Submariner

Just an average Cold War Submariner.

The average Cold War Submariner :
Volunteered to serve his country… Twice.
Went to submarine school in New London. …
Trained in the old escape tower.
Spent time on the dive and drive trainer.
Had a few drinks in Groton.
Showed up on their first boat with too much in their sea bag.
Found out about sleeping next to a torpedo.
Mess cooked in between drills
Field dayed in a bilge in between drills.
Drove the boat as a helmsman and planes man.
Stood messenger watch and dodged flying shoes and hurled insults.
Tried to keep course in a typhoon.
Tried to keep depth in a hurricane.
Tried to keep lunch down during both.

The average Cold War Submariner earned his fish.
Then he was no longer average.
All Became the teachers.
Most Became the Petty Officers
Many Became the Chiefs
Some Became COBs
Some Became Chief Warrant Officers.
Some Became Limited Duty Officers
Some Became Supply and Line Officers.
But all remained submariners at heart.

The average Cold War Submariner is now losing their eyesight and gaining in their waistlines.

These steely eyed killers of the deep sometimes find themselves back on watch when they sleep. Angles and dangles and battle stations cause the covers to fly off in the middle of the night. They still sleep better listening to a fan than the stark silence of a bedroom. They like repeat backs and often find themselves saying “say again?”. Only now it’s because their ears are fading as fast as their eyes. They still laugh when they hear someone talk about shooting water slugs. And they still shed a tear when they find out about another shipmate that has gone on final patrol.

The average Cold War Submariner has a crusty shell on the outside and melts like butter when he holds his granddaughter on his knee. He swells with pride when the flags fly and sadness when he sees the new generation shirk their responsibility. He knows that he can never tell his best stories but gets a twinkle in his eye when they ask him to tell them anyway.

People ask me sometimes why I write about the life.

I don’t really have a good answer. Maybe part of it is an effort to make sense of what we did and why we did it. Today would have been the birthday of one of our shipmates that died while serving on the USS San Francisco. He was an A Ganger and was doing his routines when the boat hit the mountains. That could have been any one of us. Maybe sometimes I just feel blessed that it didn’t happen to me. And a little guilty.