by Ted E. Dubay
If submariners have the best chow, it made me wonder what skimmers ate.
In contrast to rushing through meals on patrol, we leisurely finished our food and lingered.
I wanted to make a quick phone call to my parents and let them know I was back. Southerland patted his stretched belly and we headed to the barrack. I found a pay phone. After I had deposited a dime and dialed O, the operator came on the line.
I told her I wanted to make a long-distance collect phone call and gave her my parents’ number. After a bunch of clicking noises and my dime returning, I heard a phone ring.
A woman answered. The operator asked, “Will you accept a collect call from Ted?”
The voice on the other end enthusiastically accepted.
I blurted, “Hey, Mom, I’m finally back from patrol. I’m safe and sound in the barrack on Ford Island.”
With a distinct New York City accent, her reply was hesitant and confused. A query determined I was talking to someone in area code 212, New York City, instead of 214, western Pennsylvania.
She interrupted my apology for disturbing her. Being a mother, she was happy to hear of a son returning safe and sound from something dangerous.
I repeated the process with the operator and explained about reaching the wrong number. She assured me she would cancel the charges and tried another call.
It was a treat hearing Mom’s sweet melodious voice. She had been expecting the call for the past several days.
I heard Mom say, away from the phone’s mouthpiece, “Hey, honey. It’s Ted. He’s finally back.”
Even though Dad was sitting in his easy chair, I could tell he said something about being relieved and glad it was my last secret mission.
As Mom was catching me up with all the news, I heard the voice of my thirteen-year-old sister Leona in the background, “I wanna talk. I wanna talk to him.”
“Hold your horses. Everybody will get a chance. Get Curt. He’s working on his bike on the back porch.”
I smiled, hearing Sweetie’s footsteps as she rushed off. A picture of her formed in my mind. I could see her hair bouncing and arms swinging as she scurried through the dining room and into the kitchen. The slam of the screen door announced that my sister had gone outside. Soon it banged again as Curt and my sister clamored into the house.
Mom said, “Sweetie’s about to explode. Ready to talk to her?”
She had attended the Cathy Rush Basketball Camp while I was on patrol. Sweetie excitedly told me about it. I wondered how much my own interest in basketball had influenced her in the sport. We concluded our conversation with her challenging me to a game of H-O-R-S-E.
Next, it was Curt’s turn. I knew he was dying to ask details about my patrol experiences. He knew it was a forbidden subject. We limited our conversation to a discussion about rebuilding the gears on his ten-speed bike. I promised to help when I arrived back home.
Finally, it was Dad’s turn. We mainly talked about fishing. He had stocked our pond with large-mouth bass. My father extolled their virtues as fighters. The call ended with me telling him that I’d see them in about a month. The exact day of my discharge from the Navy was unknown. Treating us like mushrooms, by keeping us in the dark and feeding us poop, was the Navy way.
With much regret, I hung up. We could have talked for hours but a collect phone call from Hawaii was expensive. Although my folks never accepted money from me in compensation, I know it bit into their limited budget.
While walking to Southerland’s cube, I realized how much I longed for my family. When on the submarine, I had a defensive mechanism engaged inside me. I knew I missed them but it was an abstract feeling.
Southerland, with eyes closed, was lying in his rack. Seeing his peaceful demeanor almost made me regret disturbing him. I slammed my hand on the side of one of the metal lockers, creating an ear-splitting noise. His eyes popped open.
With sarcastic sweetness dripping from my voice, I asked him if he was ready to pick up our belongings from the warehouse.
His eyes rolled in their sockets and I thought he was going to fling a few well-deserved meaningless intensifiers at me.
As we walked the short distance to the warehouse, I drank in the sensations of my surroundings. The morning sun was warm on my face. Wind rustled through freshly washed hair. The mixed scents of sea and land tickled my nose. I was in bliss.
On the way, we discussed how we didn’t see each other very much while on patrol. It was amazing how two guys cooped up in a sardine can for over two months hardly came in contact. He was in the section that was on watch when I was off. When I was sleeping, he was off. Even when manning battle stations, I was in maneuvering and he was stuck in lower level machinery 2. We would catch up while I stayed in the Atkinson Drive apartment. Pavlov was taking my place after my discharge from the Navy.
Since I had shipped my car to the mainland during the last off-crew, I was at the mercy of Southerland’s batteryless VW, Hercules. We had to stuff all of our belongings into his Beetle. It was a tight fit, but we were successful. After we’d push-started Hercules, I ended up with a box in my lap. He drove to Ford Island’s ferry landing.
The ferry arrived at the landing with its usual amount of crashing and bouncing. I wondered how it remained seaworthy after taking all the abuse. I was not worried about my safety. If the battered ferry sank, we were on the surface and land was less than a quarter mile away.
Residual effects of the last three months tempered the eager anticipation of my discharge from the Navy. A 30-day paid vacation in Oahu was the perfect way to rejuvenate.
Chapter 23
* * *
The Circle Begins
The tropical paradise had much to offer and time flew by. Before I knew it, it was my next-to-last day in the Navy. After spending the morning on Ford Island, Southerland and I went to Waikiki Beach. What a way to finish my time in Hawaii! While he dozed, I savored our spectacular surroundings. Beautiful bikini-clad women coated the beach. The water was refreshing. Tourists shrieked during wild dugout canoe rides on the mighty Pacific rollers pounding the seashore.
Then Diamond Head caught my attention. Thoughts of the Blue Crew sailor who committed suicide on its slopes invaded my mind. I wondered if I would ever be able to see the landmark and not associate it with my friend.
His relationship was not the only one which could not survive long patrol separations. Divorce and marital problems ran rampant within the submarine community.
Although single, I was a victim also. Being a submariner partially contributed to my not having a steady girlfriend. When in Guam and on patrol, the crew of the Henry Clay was essentially removed from civilization, eliminating any chance of meeting a woman. While in port, most eligible members of the opposite sex ostracized those in the military as warmongers. It was a difficult situation.
On the positive side, I survived. There was much to be thankful for, even though I had some narrow escapes. The snapped line, while tying up the Nautilus, missed me by a whisker. A torpedo shot at the USS Fulton had a dummy warhead. Evasive actions averted being depth-charged during sound trials. The jam dive brought us to within a hair’s breadth of destruction. Encounters with typhoons and Soviet hunter-killer submarines left us unscathed. World leaders kept their sensibilities and the Cold War never escalated into an all-out conflict. My training and experience were the foundation for a well-paying career. I met many wonderful people. All of these contributed to my growth from a naive country boy into a confident, mature young man.
I went to bed with a smile on my face. There were so many wonderful memories.
The next day, I donned my dress white uniform for the last time. After attaching my Dolphins to the shirt, I picked up the patrol pin. The emblem was missing the star for my final patrol.
A quick search located the tiny star. I stared at it in my open hand. The ⅛th-inch golden icon was pathetically small when compared to what I had endured to earn it. It was a shame that a certificate, stating in words what
the award represented, did not accompany the patrol pin or its stars. I attached the new star to the medal. My finger traced the pin’s outline and then gently touched each star.
While staring at the miniature FBM submarine with a missile blasting out, I recalled my feelings when the Clay fired its test missile. I still recalled the FBM’s reverberations. Would the sensation ever fade from my memory? At the time, the launch was an exciting lark. After too many war patrols, the way the submarine shuddered as the projectile blasted towards its target was matched by a reciprocal shiver within me. Mine was due to comprehending the awful conflagration the Henry Clay’s lethal weapons would cause if ever dispatched.
Gratefulness quickly replaced the uncomfortable feeling.
I will be thankful forever because we never unleashed the Henry Clay’s merchants of unimaginable devastation. Although enemies on political and military levels, the Soviet general population was not any different from that of the United States. If the Cold War had escalated into something more terrible, it would have resulted in the annihilation of millions of innocent victims in both countries. My deterrent patrols had come and gone. During those deployments, I manned battle station missile too many times. Thankfully, none resulted in dispatching the Clay’s birds of death. The pin and its adornments were visual reminders of my contribution to maintaining world peace.
My Dolphins were already pinned onto the left breast of my uniform. I affixed the patrol pin to the pocket flap below my Dolphins. Although earned in different manners, both medals made my chest swell with pride.
Southerland entered the room. “Y’all ready?”
I nodded and we walked through the quiet apartment. McCann and Connell were not home. A final goodbye was not possible. Would I ever see them again?
After depositing my sea-bag inside the VW Beetle, I climbed into the driver’s seat. Bob assumed the pushing duties. Our coordinated actions quickly caused Hercules’s engine to spring to life. I wondered if my departure would motivate him to replace the battery. I silently shifted to the passenger seat.
Southerland stopped the car in front of the airport terminal. I got out. Neither of us spoke and he drove away.
I did not look back.
List of Names and Terms
after lighting ground detector
Akaka Falls
Ala Moana Hotel
Ala Moana Park
Ala Wai Yacht harbor
Alabama
Aloha Airlines
Andy’s Hut
Apollo 13
Apra Harbor
ARI
Arizona, USS
Arizona Club
Atlantic Ocean
atmosphere analyzer
attack center
auxiliary electrician aft (AEA)
AWOL
B-52 bomber
baby nuc
back emergency
Bainbridge, Md.
Baldwin-Wallace College
Ballard, Charlie
Barrack 55
basic engineering exam (BEQ)
battle station missile
BCP
bell book
Benjamin Franklin, USS
Bermuda Triangle
Blue Crew
boatswains
bridge
Bridge of the Americas
Brothers, Dr. Joyce
Bruce
Cape Kennedy, Fla.
carbon dioxide scrubber
casualty assistance team (CAT)
Chagaraes River
Chain of Craters Road
channel fever
Charleston S.C.
Charleston Naval Shipyard
chief of the boat (COB)
chief of the watch (COW)
Class 67–4
Clay, Henry (statesman)
Cochran, Cal
Cold War
combustion engineering
Cone, USS
Conn
Connell, Tommy Lee
continental shelf
control room
Cook, Capt. James
Cooper River
Cossey, James
Costas
Crater Rim Road
crush depth
Csencsics, Dave
Cuba
D1G
Dana, Richard
Davis, Bob
Devastation Trail
Diamond Head
Dianotto, Vince
Dink
Disneyland
diving officer
down-bubble
Dubay, Curt
Dubay, Frank, Jr.
Dubay, Frank, Sr.
Dubay, Harry
Dubay, Leona Gus
Dubay, Leona Sweetie
Dubay, Marcia
Dubay, Scott
Dubay, Vickie
8000-gallon-per-day distillation unit
Einstein, Albert
electric plant control panel (EPCP)
electrican’s mate “A” School
ELT
emergency air breathing (EAB)
emergency diesel generator (E D/G)
emergency propulsion motor (EPM)
engine order telegraph
engineer
engineering officer of the watch (EOOW)
Engineer’s Night Order Book
escape tower
escape trunk
fairwater planes
Falcon, USS
family-gram
fast cruise
fast–SCRAM recovery
Fern Forest
Fiddler’s Green
first sitting
floating wire antenna
Ford Island
Fort DeRussey
Forty-One for Freedom
Frechette, Bob
Fudd, Lt.
Fulton, USS
galley
GCT
General Electric
GI Bill
goat locker
going-home turns
Gold Crew
Great Lakes Naval Training Center, North Chicago, Ill.
green-band
green board
Groton, Conn.
Gruver, Bill
Guam
Halawa Terminal
Hartford, Conn.
Hawaii
Hawaii Five-O
Hawthorne, Robert
helicopter
helmsman
Henry Clay Clarion
Henry Lemon Clay (HLC)
Hercules (VW Beetle)
Hickory High School
Hickory Township
High Yield 80 (HY-80)
Holy Loch, Scotland
Honolulu
Horne, Jim
hovering
hump day
Humphreys, John
Hymie Hilton
ICBM
Idaho Falls, Idaho
in-hold-out switch
International Date Line
Jakucyk, Jack
jam dive
John Adams, USS
junior officer of the deck (JOOD)
Kamehameha Highway
Kealakekua Bay
kiddy-cruiser
Kiick, Jim
Kilauea Iki
Kilauea Military Camp (KMC)
Kodak Instamatic camera
Koolua Mountains
Lanai
last man down
launch depth
Lava Tree State Park
Lewis, Rich
Lingle E.K.
lithium-bromide air conditioning unit
logroom
logroom yeoman
Long Beach, Calif.
Long Island
longboat
Lord, Jack
Losen, Mr.
Love, Dick
lovely (hot chocolate)
Lusaini, Earl
mail bouy
maneuvering
maneuvering watch
Marchbanks, Rich
MASH
Mauna Kai
McCann, Joel
mess cook
messdeck
messenger of the watch
Metzgus, Greg
Miami Dolphins
Mickey Mouse ears
mid-rats
military standby
monkey fist
Montross, Robert
Murphy, Joe
Muster
NASA
Nathan Hale, USS
Nautilus, USS
Naval Weapons Station
New London, Conn.
non-qual puke
non-useful body (NUB)
North Pole
NPTU
nuclear liaison officer
Nuclear Powered Ship and Submarine Recylcing Program
nuclear triad
Nucleonics Lab
Nukie-Pu-U
Oahu
officer of the deck (OOD)
O’Heiren, Ron
1MC
1SQ
126 cell battery
oxygen generator
Pacific Ocean
Panama Canal
patrol pin star
Pavlov, Mike
Pearl Harbor
periscope liberty
Philadelphia, Pa.
pink tag
piping tab
plan of the day (POD)
planesman
plumeria flower
Polaris A-2
Polaris A-3
poopie suit
port and starboard watches
Port Canaveral, Fla.
Pottenger, Walt
Powell, Colin
Pressurizer
prototype
Puerto Rico
Purdum’s Pirates
Purple Herart
Ralph
reactor compartment tunnel
reactor control rods
reactor plant control panel (RPCP)
rest and relaxation (R&R)
Rickover, Hyman G.
rig for reduced electrical
rigged-for-red
Roosevelt Roads
Russian submarine
Russian trawler
S5W
sail
sailplanes