Sudden Impact… Forever Impacted

It was a cold and freezing night.

(I’ve always wanted to use that line ever since Snoopy used something similar in one of his attempts to be a novelist. Cartoonist Charles Schulz made Snoopy use this phrase because “it was a cliché and had been one for a very long time”. A book by Schulz, titled Snoopy and “It Was a Dark and Stormy Night” includes a novel credited to Snoopy as author, was published by Holt, Rinehart, and Winston in 1971.)

In this case, it truly was not a night to be out galivanting around. Especially since the last words I had said to my dad before taking his nearly new work car to the basketball game on the 6^th of January 1972 were “I’ll come right home.”

I really had intended to keep that promise but the game ended early, and we were all pretty hungry. So, a decision was made in haste that had a forever impact on my life.

The Car.

My dad was a fire apparatus sales manager that traveled throughout his district of Western Pennsylvania, Eastern Ohio and parts of West Virginia. By fire apparatus, I mean he sold Mack Fire Trucks. He was really good at what he did, winning many awards and filling a great number of fir houses with an amazing product. I secretly wanted to be him since fire trucks are part of many boys growing up dreams. They are the picture of public service and I still admire anyone who chooses to serve their community in this capacity.

In order to get to the customer, dad needed a reliable vehicle. He was a big Chrysler guy. It goes back a couple of generations in my family including my Aunt Elizabeth’s 1937 Dodge. Strong, reliable and well built. This particular one was a 1971 Chrysler New Yorker 4-Door Hardtop 440 V-8 TorqueFlite (aut. 3) engine Horsepower / Torque Curve. Frankly, the thing was a mover. And you could fit an entire crew of your friends in it. This was before the oil embargo and it was used to strongly leaded gas. Prices were around 36 cents a gallon so it was really not a problem for me to refill the tank. It never really occurred to me that he was very good about checking the mileage for his expense reports and probably knew exactly how far outside of my curfew I went. I think his biggest complaint was that I kept changing the channel on his FM radio back to the AM stations where I could listen to Crimson and Clover.

I got to drive the car that night because it truly was a dark and stormy night which included forecasts of potential road hazards from freezing rain. Not too uncommon in Western Pennsylvania.

The Crew

I was not very athletic in high school. Which is to say I probably spent as little time in the gym as needed to not get flunked out. My thing was music and the stage crew. We had a couple of guys that did participate in sports but over the last three years of high school we became close friends in our own world. We did everything together including being part of the small musical group that played at basketball games. We also managed to get into our own share of mischief. Nothing serious like burning down buildings or robbing convenience stores. Just a small amount of teenage rebellion.

It was not too unusual for us to deviate from the original plans we shared with our parents. There was a favorite place to eat across the Elizabeth Bridge that really wasn’t too far outside of our operating zone. I vaguely remember telling myself that I could justify the extra mileage to dad by explaining that I had to take the guys home after the game. It would also explain things if we went over out time limit. I should mention that by this time, dad and I had discovered how much I was like him which cause a never-ending source of tension. This night would do nothing to relive the tension.

The Crew that night included me, Charlie B, Bruce B. and Kenny G. At least I think it was. It’s been fifty-two years so I may be a bit fuzzy. All I distinctly remember was that there were only four of us. This would turn out to be fortuitous.

The Crash

We finished the game and finalized out plans. The trip to Eat n’ Park wasn’t going to take that long and the freezing rain had mostly subsided. I did the only smart thing of the evening by insisting that everyone wear seat belts. Since this was 1972, there were no air bags or any of those fancy seat belt harnesses that would later become standard. But we set off down the hill from the high school surrounded by the massive metal monster built by Chrysler with ventless front-door windows on the four-door sedan and hardtop that was new that year.

That car was beautiful. And heavy. And sometimes a little too fast.

We got to the bottom of the hill across from Marracini’s Supermarket and turned right on Route 51. This was a four-lane highway that I had driven on hundreds of times, and I hit the gas. Not for very long though. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the car hit a very distinct patch of black ice. There is a small bridge over a creek just past where the supermarket was and enough frozen water had collected to turn it into an ice-skating rink.

The Chrysler went into a spin. I think it may have been three complete spins and finally came to rest backwards into a telephone pole, a small sign for Tom’s auto body repair, and a signpost for Marracini’s market.

The telephone pole was no match for that massive hunk of metal and came crashing down between the middle of the trunk, the back seat, and the front seat. Miraculously, not a soul in the car had a scratch. Not a single scratch. Everyone was still in place and upright and we finally had the sense to get out of the vehicle. Probably a good thing since three more cars found the ice patch within a short period of time and came spinning into us. Needless to say, the Chrysler was toast.

The Consequences

Tom’s body shop was closed for the night, so I had to cross the highway to the supermarket and use a pay phone. I called dad and after telling him there had been an accident. The line went dead. I called back to tell him that the line was cut off. He told me that he had hung up. Then he finally came and rescued us. To say that the ride home was difficult would be the understatement of the century.

The Cost

Dad never did tell me how much the car costs. I’m sure the insurance was more than enough but the inconvenience deepened the rift between us. I moved out of the house and lived with my grandparents for a while and as soon as possible (when I was seventeen) I joined the Navy. I went on active duty after graduating high school and went on my path to submarines. One note: of all the things we hit that night, the most expensive was the signpost for Marricini’s Supermarket. Dad would later tell me that they soaked him for thousands for a little teeny sign. He refused to ever shop there from that day until the day they tore the place down years later. It is a gas station now. Tom’s Auto Body shop was much more generous and the building still stands where it always has.

Fast Forward

To his credit, dad forgave me. By the time I went on my third submarine, the USS San Francisco, we had become friends. As the years went by until his death in April of 1993, we became best friends and he and I spoke as often as possible every Saturday morning when I was not at sea. He came to visit us in our various assignments, and I still grieve his loss over thirty years since his death.

I guess today (January 8, 2024) is a day of remembrances about sudden impacts.

I woke up at four AM this morning and all of this came rushing at me. Thoughts of that collision in 1972 and memories of the day I learned about the crash of our boat.

On 8 January 2005 at 02:43 GMT, San Francisco collided with an undersea mountain about 364 nautical miles (675 km) southeast of Guam while operating at flank (maximum) speed at a depth of 525 feet (160 m). Official US Navy reporting subsequent to the grounding cited the location as “in the vicinity of the Caroline Islands “.

As a submariner, I can assure you that there is no lack of courage required to put your life in the hands of your brothers (and now sisters) that volunteer to become one of a select few. But no one can imagine the sudden impact of an underwater collision. No matter how good the technology and training, this type of event has lasting impacts well beyond the event itself.

Much has been written about the event and the aftermath. I do not intend to rehash any of it here since people closer to the accident have so much better stories to tell. I can only say this: it is a tribute to the designers and builders that the boat was able to return to the surface. It is a higher tribute to the men who had immeasurable courage and fortitude to overcome what must have been sheer terror and let their training overtake their fear. I have spoken with a number of them at past reunions and their stories are unforgettable.

The unthinkable

I can only imagine what that day was like. I was a Machinist Mate Auxiliaryman at the time of my service on the San Francisco. During much of my tour, I was a roving watch that would have been moving around the compartments at the time of an impact. Not seeing it coming would have left me helpless to the motions caused by the impact. I just wouldn’t have seen it coming. I still mourn the loss of MM2/SS Joey Ashley. I never met him but have kept in contact with his folks. Their lives were forever changed.

Charleston and MTS San Francisco

We will have a Gathering of Saints (reunion for those who need that word) in April of this year. I hope to meet with the men and women from all of the crews that served this proud ship and maybe even meet with the students that are learning on her now. We will pay tribute to all of those who are no longer with us in the body. They will always be with me in spirit.