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I completed my nuclear (ET) training out in the tobacco fields west of Windsor Locks. (I was surprised on a recent [early 2002] stop in the area to hear that the site was still active.) Just before I left on a two weeks leave">
Below are stories that have been sent to me to remember the sometimes
great/sometimes challenging times we had aboard USS Ethan Allen (SSBN 608). I do not
authenticate the stories. I just believe they are worth passing along.
Please forward all stories to ssbn608@ssbn608.org
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From Philip
Ledoux |
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A NARRATIVE HISTORY OF THE SSBN608
By Philip N. Ledoux ET2 Nuclear |
I completed my nuclear (ET) training out in the tobacco fields west of Windsor Locks. (I was surprised on a recent [early 2002] stop in the area to hear that the site was still active.) Just before I left on a two weeks leave, I was told that my assignment would be the Squallus, at the time in overhaul in the Portsmouth Yards. Upon return from leave, someone else had gotten my assignment in Portsmouth, and my orders read: USS Ethan Allen SSBN608, Groton Connecticut, etc.
If you've never been in a Naval building Yard before, it is a wonder that you can report without being AWOL! First impressions are pure pandemonium and confusion. After a week on board, there is order, syncopation and someone is orchestrating it all quite well.
I think there were less than 30 men assigned to the Ethan Allen when I arrived. We knew who the officers were, but I never met them until after commissioning, and then rarely. I imagine that they were swamped in paperwork and organization. My only contact with ship's personnel were the reactor control crew and engineering related specialties, probably about 25 or so men.
At first it took more time to figure out where you were supposed to be, and trying to get there amidst the tangle of temporary lighting wiring, temporary power tool electrical wiring and welding cables. Like anything, there is a routine developed to get from here to there, and you can quickly dodge the flying sparks, learn to recognize the signs of cranes lowering heavy equipment into place and avoid the area. I'm now 70 years old and was in my late 20s at the time. I can't remember precisely what I did for work, so it must have been quite routine and definitely non life-threatening. We had two Nuclear Electronic Chiefs (eventually split into Gold and Blue); much of their time was spent ordering supplies. I can remember them pondering over how much of this and that to order, and one of them telling the other: This is the only time we will have to order this item, when we are operational we won't be able to order any.
It was difficult to "learn the boat" even though I had my dolphins. There was nothing to guide us, nothing printed. The welders, etc. had blueprints, which most of us could read, but it was only for a specific piece of equipment, housing, or support; which was useless to understanding the overall scheme of things. We didn't even have the luxury of the simple internal sketch you have of the boat on the internet pages! Then one day the Chiefs handed out a beautiful 4" x 11" booklet that opened up to 22" with the sub's systems laid out across the two pages. At last we had something that made sense! Three days later I heard the Chiefs discussing heatedly - If they want the booklets recalled, THEY are going to have to use someone other than me. This somebody, a stranger to us all in an officer's uniform collected all the booklets and kept pestering the Chiefs many times a day, because they had 2 or 3 missing.
A couple of weeks later in comes the 2nd class nuky engineman with 4 boxes of "something", which turned out to be the very booklets that had been confiscated. It seems that when he went to the Groton Town Dump to take his family trash, he saw these 4 boxes setting by themselves way off to the side (nowhere near the land-fill area), went over to see what might be useful
scavenging. None other than the confiscated booklets. He was a fast thinker, and confiscated the confiscated. And so, we now had something to use as a map to navigate through the ship's systems. Holly hell broke out instantly, but we kind of anticipated that and no copies could be found. Restrictions were tried and didn't work in retrieving the booklets, and thus a division between the "workers" and the "administration" started and immediately spawned the boat's password: IHTFP.
When the "Great White Father's" crew of examiners were grilling us where we worked, one Captain asked this same 2nd class engineman for something so he could see on the top of the equipment cabinets. When he finally got to see, it was clean enough, but he was surprised by some cryptic letters. He asked the engineman: What in the world does IHTFP stand for? The reply: SsssIR, That-that-that means I have a - a - a -ten foot prick. Thanks to his fast thinking, the only comment the Captain gave was: I've been in the Navy 35 years and that's a new one on me.
To me, the most amazing thing in construction I saw was the welding of the plates forming the hull. What experts the crane operators were in lowering the curved plates into place. Those guys could literally not crack an egg. And then the heating of the V-joints prior to welding, with pass after pass;
x-raying, grinding out flaws, fixing it, then more multi-pass welding, x-raying, until after a week or more, 1/4 of the curve of the hull had been completed! We were observing the inner half of the V-joints welds. Outside were other welders doing the same. And when a plate didn't fit, many hours later 100 ton hydraulic "come-alongs" would arrive. Anchor rings would be welded onto the plates at opposite ends or some other "secure" structure, and the plate would be pulled into shape and into place. Two foot thick HY90 steel doesn't want to move or change shape!
When I arrived, the reactor vessel was in place. Babcock and Wilson had cast and fabricated it; although it was classified as a Westinghouse Reactor. The main turbines were also in place when I arrived. What planning had to be done to put pieces into place at the right time! I understand that the turbines and reactor vessel were placed shortly after the hull plates were completed because of the problems of moving and placement. It is a strange world to "live" in a submarine and be able to look horizontally and see workmen quite a distance away starting the keel on another submarine. Slowly but steadily it became the closed world of a submarine.
We were so busy that I was surprised at the preparation activities to launch and christen the boat. We had to make certain that everything was secured down. We were so heavy that it was estimated we would wipe out buildings in New London if we had been launched directly across the river!
EB had cleverly rearranged the ways so that when we were to slip into the river, we would be on a long diagonal downriver. We had to lash things down for a "what if" worse case scenario. We were busy until the last minute before getting into whites and be topside for the launching. We'd been individually rehearsed by our chiefs as to what to expect and the things to do what if. We of the nuclear crew had been so busy that we rarely wandered forward, and when I got topside for the launching I was surprised by the size of the crew.
Eventually (standard Navy Operating Procedures), the ceremonies commenced. We couldn't hear much of what was on the loudspeakers, they were aimed to the spectators. Space was at a premium and only a limited amount of spectators were allowed. Our chiefs successfully fought hard so that we could get our families to attend if they wanted to. I forgot what the "key words" were that signaled our launch - key words so we could brace ourselves or whatever. We heard the words, and nothing happened. The men who knocked loose the last restraints on the keel didn't hit hard enough, and had to recordinate with another "smashing of the bottle". [Or it may have been the sponsor had missed on the swing and didn't break the bottle. Scuttle butt contained both versions.] My parents said that there was a lot of noise as we slid down the ways, although topside we heard little. The first was a slight jolt like when you park a car slowly and hit something, and then we picked up speed fast. It seemed like we were a second ago standing still, and now 6 tugs were trying to secure lines to us! We slid more than 3/4 across the river, just about what had been estimated. I never saw so much churning water, with 6 tugs at full throttle and our own stern planes adding froth. And then a very, very slow return to a pier at EB.
The next day somebody in the crew brought aboard a clipping from the local newspaper. We had been illegally boarded by 2 civilian anti-nuke activist frogmen when we finally stopped on our run across the river. None of us could remember anything of the sort happening, and administration wouldn't give a clue.
Temporary patches had been put over strategic equipment entry points to cover what-iffs during the launch. There was much equipment to still bring aboard. Almost all the reactor control equipment and similarly for the electrical control equipment had to come aboard. During this period of time, we started to look like a regular sub; little by little, except for the constant traffic of EB welders and riggers, and men laying out power lines for this and that.
At this point our work load increased dramatically. We had to make certain that equipment cabinets were welded in the correct place, not where the welder thought the prints said it should go. At times it was almost like standing guard. EB installed all the interconnecting wiring; but our chiefs had enough experience that they had us double check everything. And the chiefs were good at polishing relations with the installers so there weren't any hard feelings. I suspect that much of the extra supplies that had been ordered were used in the "bargaining" with individuals - much like the expression "the Navy runs of coffee", 5 pounds of coffee got most any needed supply part in a hurry.
At this time Chief Bishop came to me and asked if I could help and/or volunteer. The fellow who had been assigned to keeping the engineering library up-dated had family problems, and the chief had just discovered that none of the changes for the last six months had been done. Would I be willing to take over the job in addition to my regular work? I was single and a work-a-holic so I took on the job. Obviously no easy task, but I managed to get things organized and then started the job of making the insertions, tearing out pages, etc. etc. I was making good headway by working almost 12 hours or more on the sub. The After Log Room
Yeoman's Shack was an 8' x 8' hole near the gyro stabilizer, reached by a vertical ladder. [At least those are the dimensions I remember it to be. It sure was cramped.] One Sunday (on my own time) while doing wholesale tearing out of book pages (it was quicker to drop them on the itty-bitty deck than take the time to aim for the wastebasket), down the ladder came some kaki. Out of an officer's mouth came a scornful: WHERE IS YOUR WASTEBASKET? I replied: You are standing in it sir. To which he angrily scrambled up the ladder. Quite some time later down came Chief Bishop. He inquired how changes were going. I proudly showed him how far along I'd come. Bishop was quite satisfied and casually asked: WAS ANYONE DOWN HERE AWHILE AGO? Yes, some officer. WHAT HAPPENED? He asked me where my wastebasket was and I told him that he was standing in it. Bishop chuckled and said: DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT, I'VE TAKEN CARE OF HIM. KEEP CATCHING UP ON THE CHANGES. BY THE WAY, THAT WAS THE ENGINEERING OFFICER.
We were getting behind building schedule, which resulted in the crew going from 6 section duty to 4, and then to 3 and then to 6 days a week, and the last straw was restriction to within 5 miles of the boat. A lot of sea lawyers set up shop and scuttle butt developed and harsh words were exchanged about what to do about those of the crew who lived as far away as 25 miles! The orders were never changed, and we all lived wondering where "up" was. By this time we were starting to look something like a real submarine. The bulkheads and overhead had formica finish with heavy kraft paper protecting the surface in place. Gradually every free space of paper was covered with IHTFP. It didn't mean "I Have a Ten Foot Prick" as mentioned earlier, it said simply: "I Hate This Foul Place". And the fellow who lived 25 miles away had it tattooed on his arm! For things to progress that far, any observer knew problems were brewing
big time. We even went to 7 days a week duty! Even our chiefs had gotten edgy and bitchy. I didn't notice much of this because I was spending all of my time on the sub; going home to my trailer house in the park just north of the submarine base North gate, for sleep and food. I finally got the engineering library up-dated and truly operational just before we started sea trials.
I knew that once the reactor went hot, it would be almost impossible to get into the reactor compartment, so I figuratively lived in the reactor compartment all I could. I knew that knowing where everything was like the palm of my hand would be handy if not necessary some day. Yet, somehow I missed the fueling of the reactor. The crew from Westinghouse came one day to torque down the heads of the reactor circulating pumps. Those were the biggest centrifugal pumps and integrated motors I'd ever seen in my life. What monsters! There was a ring of about 40 bolts that held the motor and pumps together located on the top head of the motor. Heaters were inserted in the hollow bolts for 4 hours to warm up or even out the temperature, so that as each bolt and nut would be torqued at the same physical conditions. The men spent more time checking temperatures than doing anything else. The torque wrench was all a muscular man could handle and it took two and sometimes three men to torque the nut down. I never did see any of the work done on the reactor vessel.
When we finally were a real submarine, with all equipment aboard, there was a heavy workload of endless checking and rechecking. "The Navy" didn't want to accept anything that wasn't 100% up to snuff. EB would be on the job immediately to fix anything we found faulty or even marginal. Finally we were ready to fuel the reactor, but that couldn't be done until the Great White Father's crew (Admiral Rickover) had checked us out as capable of handling a live reactor. There was a mad scramble to catch up on everything we had not thought of for about a year or more, plus all this new equipment nobody had ever seen. The dreaded day came. All the kraft paper was removed, equipment cleaned and polished and the officers whom we rarely had ever seen were intent only upon making certain that every IHTFP had been obliterated.
We were now behind schedule to make sea trials. Apparently the reactor crew was holding up progress by not having a fueled reactor. The captain who examined me, gave me some of the toughest questions about "what if" I had ever thought possible. Basically it was "What would you do if ___ ?" I answered as best I could and then honestly said: The next step is get the manual. "Get it and show me". I did and could quickly flip to the page needed (tearing out pages and replacing them had helped immensely). With that he was highly satisfied. The other crew members experienced the same. And very late that day we learned that we had been "blessed" by the Great White Father. We now could fuel the reactor and bring it live. But before that happened, we drilled and drilled and drilled some more.
No matter how prepared you are to bring the reactor hot for the first time, you are nervous, edgy and on constant alert. It was merely another non-event, although the electricians poured sweat as they always do on a reactor start-up. And when our own officers were finally convinced that we could handle a hot reactor we finally started out to sea for the first time. The reactor division always had the distinct feeling that our officers never did trust us or think us as being capable of handling a reactor.
Electric Boat has to be commended on the job it did. Our first dive revealed 6 leaks all under 1/2 inch, none aft.
These sea trials were to burn into my mind many experiences that became economic theories later on. Out at sea the steam control panel and the electric control panel were rock solid. The reactor control panel rattled around like a washing machine on spin dry with a lopsided load. Our chiefs were extremely good at getting information from the workers about our equipment. It seems that some small contractor in Connecticut had built all the control panels for the 608. When the panels were taken out of storage, someone made the mistake of giving us another boat's reactor panel, one made by Westinghouse. The control panel was almost gutted and the welders went to work, but to beef up the panel properly, many of the instruments and wiring had to be installed and then protected from welding arcs and splatter. We all muttered to ourselves that we hoped that we would never have to troubleshoot and repair an instrument on the panel. It would take 10 times longer than normal.
From this time on it seemed that we would be just completing repairs from the last sea trial and we were out on another trial. EB people were becoming a more and more rare intrusion as we approached acceptance.
Nothing happened to make the engineers a really happy crew. As a crew we got along as well and probably better than most department crews and we couldn't ask to have better chiefs and COB; but we still rarely saw our officers and when we did it seemed like they were always bearers of bad news. IHTFP appeared on the reactor head, although no officer noticed it; our chiefs thought it a great joke. We now headed for Newport, some 25 miles down the coast, to test the torpedo tubes on the range there. In the docks at Newport for a day, then out to the sound, turn around and fire torpedoes, and back to dock. Probably one tube a day. And then the powder keg blew.
All the time we were in Newport, we were restricted to within 15 miles of the ship and all on
Cinderella Liberty (back by 23:00 hours). The men could easily return to their families back in New London and be on duty at the required time. Nerves got frayed. Then we were to be tied up at the pier for about 5 days, and ordered to keep the reactor hot. The excuse given was that we didn't have enough experience to start up the reactor. The chiefs had their hands full keeping the crew sane (more a figure of speech but a bit of truth), and finally the chiefs had enough of it. We had taken the reactor live almost a dozen times, the Great White Father had given us a clean bill of health, there was no national emergency, there seemed to be no logical explanation for the "hot reactor" orders etc., and no explanation was coming forth from the ward room. Then our chief ordered the reactor shut down. I was a work-a-holic and never was included in the chain of gossip and scuttle butt. The next morning while I was making repairs, Chief Bishop came to me and said: Don't change uniforms, just go topside and stay near me in formation and don't say a thing to anybody, not even to an order. So I did what was needed so I could continue my work on the equipment and went topside on the pier. Everyone was lined up 3 or 4 deep and I was motioned over nearby Bishop. I couldn't hear a thing that was being said, and then we were dismissed. Bishop whispered in my ear: You have just experienced a mutiny.
Top brass had been flown in from Washington and conferred all night with our officers (and possibly the COB). In the morning no brass was visible. The men were given what they wanted (liberty with no restrictions, no hands reprimanded for shutting down the reactor), and we saw even less of our officers than before. After a few extra days, we went out to sea and then back to the EB pier.
Then started extended at sea trials. We were supposed to have had two Swedish commercial
washing machines, but they were never delivered before the hull was closed. So, some ding-bat ordered two Sears Roebuck "over-under" washer-dryers because they could fit down the hatch. 200 men at sea using two Sears washing machines? Who's kidding whom? Within two weeks at sea the electricians and machinists had exhausted every trick to keep a washing machine working. They were dead. And three weeks more before we could get washing done in port. We began to smell like diesel boat sailors.
When we returned to the EB docks, "Washington" had a high interest in us, and an official inspection party was to come aboard. We always had a long list or repairs to make on the reactor control equipment, and I was knee deep in a panel when Chief Bishop came to me. "Do exactly as you are told to do by anyone nearby and don't question." After awhile someone I knew came over to me and said go aft and stand by the bottom of the after hatch. I did, and after some time an engineman came over to me and said to go topside and wait aft of the sail. Another wait and someone told me to go to the forward hatch and wait. Then I was told to drop down the hatch and wait. And eventually I returned to where I was working and continued with my work. Chief Bishop knew me well and knew how to "handle" me. I always had problems passing inspection, even in a brand new uniform; but I was A #1 at repair and trouble shooting. Bishop had planned it well. As the inspecting party came down the forward hatch, he had spies relay the word to have me moved to the bottom of the aft hatch. When there was no possibility of the inspecting party being topside, I was moved topside. As the party moved aft, I was moved forward. When the inspecting party moved up, I was moved down, and finally back to work. He had kept a work-a-holic out of sight of the spit and polish boys, prevented an over-reaction to needed work by the spit and polish, and everybody was happy.
While on my first sub I quickly gravitated to the job of Ship's Cartoonist. I'm able to make simple line drawings that fit the characters and enough exaggerated that everyone gets a good laugh even the one being skewetered by the pen. My chiefs and the COB learned of my humorous pen apparently way back in the equipment ordering stage. The Log Room
Yeoman's shack was probably illegally equipped with a mimeograph machine. And on the first extended sea trials, yours truly fired up the mimeo with the first edition of Nuky Poo News Aft. It contained the usual trivia, births and scuttle butt that every at sea publication contains with a healthy dose of my cartoons.
We published once or twice a week depending on the amount of news. At the time I didn't realize how I was being "used", but with the distance of time I'm able to piece it together easily. All the time I was aboard, the officers distanced themselves from us enlisted, and when we met our officers there was not an air of comradie or mutual trust. The chiefs were well seasoned and tried their best to make things work, but damned if they could get common sense to prevail. So. The COB would sneak aft, check to make sure no one was looking, and drop down into my news office. He'd make certain that the upper hatch was closed so no one could hear and then tell me: draw up such and such with the caption such and such. I'd ask what it was all about and he would usually reply: haven't got time to explain, just do it and get it into the newspaper. I'd go to work and insert it into where I was composing a page of news with cartoons and captions.
Unbeknown to me, the chiefs had given up negotiating and decided to use the "power of the pen" and the "force of satire" to get done what they couldn't manage to get done in formal meetings. Later the COB would tell me: worked beautiful. Your embellishments were choice and worked better than I thought. And off he would go. He always made certain that no body saw him contact me.
After not very many issues ye 'ole editor got a visit from the executive officer to the main printing plant of Ye Old Nucky Poo News Aft; and was he gruff. "Give me the latest edition of the paper, I'm going to censor it. And I don't want you to ever print anything that I have not approved." The problem with his censoring was that he pulled total pages, not portions that offended him. So, I was in the dark as to what was going on to say nothing of just what kind of news to avoid. So, I was getting secretive visits from the COB and other chiefs and inserting it (usually with vivid graphics) and half of the newspaper was being obliterated by the Exec. He at least returned the master sheets to me.
When our last sea trial was over with the COB came to me and said: "You haven't got a hair on your ass if you don't print me one last edition of the NP News which will include all the censored pages. I want you to print exactly 20 copies and give them all to me. I will distribute them to special people. I don't want any extras floating around. Then destroy the masters so nobody can ever find or use them." So I did. [Continued in the next edition.]
Everyone who was on our last sea trials will remember it as long as they live; burned permanently in memory.
Being first of class we conducted extensive sound profiles. Run one piece of equipment for 20 minutes, off for 15 minutes; the next piece of equipment for 20 minutes, etc. We did this with an anchored sound barge near the Bahamas. The forward crew was on 6 section duty and most were on the beach, us engineers were back to back. In heavy seas part of our "Y" bridle to the sound barge parted. I had no more than gotten to sleep than I was awakened with "Go topside forward to handle lines." Finally the Engineering Officer was seen at the bottom of the forward ladder. "What's the password?" He answered with gusto: "IHTFP" He was allowed to come topside.
It seemed forever to complete the profile recordings. Then we were back to more tests. After two or three more weeks the final test started - finding negative buoyancy. Take on 50 gallons of water, cruise 15 minutes, take on 50 more gallons. We did this for a week! I was on "roving patrol" (not in the control room) when I heard the before mentioned Engineman 2nd Class in the control room say: "Those fools up forward don't know their ass from their elbow". The Chief of the Watch wanted an explanation. "We have already gone beyond negative buoyancy." The Chief knew he was sharp, and ordered: "Hot Standby". (Pull as much heat on the reactor as you can in readiness for full power. You cannot quickly go from very low power to full power. You have to work up like trying to race a car with slick tires on slick ice; slow and easy.) It wasn't 2 minutes and the Con rang up "Reverse Flank". Within 15 seconds we were pitched nose down at least 30 degrees, and within 10 more seconds were thrashing around like a volkswagen on a washboardy road. We probably felt it maximum in the stern because of the screw working so hard. And all the time we were picking up speed, the passing water noise which sounded like a hurricane, drowned out the noise of the turbines. I quickly headed for the reactor room viewing ports, and kept a constant watch, expecting any moment to see "something" unusual to report. Quite a non-event in that department.
I don't think anyone had the presence of mind to record how long it lasted, although "forever" would be agreed upon by everyone. And finally we started leveling off, and we switched the screw to forward. A long slow nervy ascent. The engineman on the console had kept a running log of the pressure gage. Upon translation to depth, we had gone over TWO MILES deep. The next day we had direct orders to recopy in our own hands and sign the new log books and eliminate the deep dive.
Hmmmmm. I swear it is true.
I had strung a 3/8 inch rope across the reactor compartment directly below the reactor tunnel before we had closed the reactor hatch for this series of sea trials. At the depth of the dive, that line hung straight down about 10 feet to the deck on both ends. What a boat, what a design, what steel to have shrunk that much and still have a working boat. Electric Boat has some unsung heroes who never will know how well their design performed.
The logic in my mind kept me searching the reactor viewing ports, something has to have given. And within a few hours I called Chief Bishop to come to the reactor view ports. I pointed in the general direction of the heat exchanger and told him something wasn't right, but I couldn't figure it out. He encouraged me to keep trying to figure it out and let him know immediately. I was so keyed up that I couldn't sleep. I knew that compartment like my own hand; and after about 20 hours, just as I figured it out along came Chief Bishop. I told him: there is a cloud forming over the bottom of the curved deck near the heat exchanger. The likely probability is a primary water leak. He couldn't see it, but believed me. He visited the view port often and regularly, and then he recognized the "cloud" forming and spreading. Bishop then called the Engineering officer to observe. The officer gave a cursory look and couldn't see anything and left. I informed my fellow nuke workers, but nobody could recognize what was happening. Finally it got so obvious that the Engineering Officer could see it, who called the Captain and Exec, who had difficulty recognizing what was happening. Finally after a few hours, we started an emergency run for home port. And as in most situations like that the proverbial Shoot the Messenger happens, I was on the shit list from then on. I should have reported it sooner.
When we got to port "enter the rescuing heroes". We were not allowed to enter our own reactor compartment with the proper gear. The experts had to do the job. In typical fashion when it was all done, the experts had contaminated the engineering spaces, the dock, all over the New London Base to the main gate and command HQ! We were given leave. There was a pin hole leak in the final bend where primary water enters the heat exchanger. I often wondered how such damage could have been justified with a rewritten log that revealed no clue as to what could have caused it?
By this time the 608 had become quite newsworthy, yet not even the Navy had a clue as to how newsy and how real a test the boat had accomplished. We had dived deeper than anything man-made up to our time! And had come home not able to talk about it.
I was on leave two days and we got orders to return to the boat; the Berlin Crisis had just erupted. Off to Charlestown we sail, to load missiles. On one of our lengthy sea trials, I developed an abscessed tooth. The doctor had been frank with me - he had had a quick course in dentistry but really didn't know how to handle this one other than drain the abscess. "Go to watch, and see me when you get off watch." When I returned, there were my buddies all swapping sea tales in the doc's office. I joined in, and when the doc saw that I was relaxed, all of a sudden everyone grabbed me. I couldn't move a leg, arm, torso or head. The doc quickly lanced the abscess, and that was it. The doc issued me a small bottle of brandy, and me a non-drinker! But I sure needed it to get started and keep going. It took very little to do what was intended. On that trip I think I could have become reasonably rich by selling my little bottle of booze.
Doc had me see him regularly, he was very concerned about me. We got to know each other well. Remember [Continued in the next edition]? Well, it continues here because the Doc and the Exec bunked in the same stateroom.
In general our Exec was not liked by the crew, consequently (because he was a non-drinker) every day at sea, there mysteriously appeared an empty liquor bottle in his stateroom wastebasket. In reality, as the editor of the Nuky Poo News Aft, my only knowledge of what was going on up forward was from the COB and that was so brief that I was in the dark. But because I apparently was privy to wardroom secrets the Exec just knew I was the one placing the empty liquor bottles in his stateroom and secretly snooping on wardroom meetings. All the while I was dumb and innocent.
When we arrived in Charlestown, the ship's Doctor dropped down into the Nuky Poo News den of iniquity. "Phil, could you do me a favor?" Depends on what, most likely yes. "I know that when we next go to sea I'm going to have a mental case on my hands. It is going to be either you or the Exec. I would have one hell of a time justifying having the Exec removed from this boat, but it is relatively easy to get you removed. And when they get you in the nut ward, they will know exactly what I'm doing, you aren't crazy and you'll get out within two days." He explained how I'd be met by armed guards where ever I was and escorted to the nut ward and others would remove my belongings (which I would have ready). "I can't tell you when we are sailing, but within three weeks it will happen." And about eight days later it happened just as he described it would. BUT, it didn't work out the way he said it would! I entered on a Friday. Not enough time to do an evaluation, Monday came and went, Tuesday likewise, Wednesday was a holiday! Short staff through the end of the week. The following Tuesday I was evaluated, and released Thursday. The gods of fate spit on me that time.
Some two years later I was coming up the ladder on a sub tender when the mentioned Exec was coming down. I was the first time in my life that I saw a human's eyes turn red! I'm fairly certain that we both have never forgotten each other. While waiting for reassignment I started talking with other nuke sailors, and they were verifying my worse suspicions; so I opted out of submarines. I was assigned to the Great Grey Goose (USS Gilmore) a sub tender lying on a mound of coffee grounds in Charlestown who was being upgraded to a nuclear tender.
And thus ends my tale about the Ethan Allen SSBN 608.
Philip N. Ledoux
P. O. Box 765
Claremont, N. H. 03743
LedouxPhilip@netscape.net
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