Three Knots to Nowhere (26 page)

The instructor opened an air valve and increased the chamber's pressure. To keep the force inside our ears equal to that of the chamber, we held our noses and mouths closed, while blowing mightily. The pressure had to increase quickly. If it took too long, there was more chance of developing decompression sickness (the bends). When the pressure in the escape trunk equalized with the tower, the hatch to the water column easily swung open.

I volunteered to be the first out. It was a relief to stop worrying about drowning while still in the chamber. I ducked my head beneath the surface and made my way to the opening. I faced the trunk and placed my feet on the bottom of the hatch. With back arched, hands hooked in the top of the opening, and head tilted up, I let out a resounding, “Ho-Ho-Ho.”

A diver slapped me on the back and I released my grip. The walls of the tower rushed by as I swiftly rose, continuously exhaling. A cloud of bubbles from the air expelled from my lungs kept my face dry. I shot past several rescue men and the safety chamber. When at the surface, I felt like a missile blasting out of the
Clay
. I made my way to the edge and climbed out. A check by a safety officer completed the ordeal. A deep sense of satisfaction washed over me.

Football season began during off-crew. The
Clay
's flag football team continued its winning ways. We won every game and outscored our opponents 254 to 30.

McCann was the quarterback and the undisputed star of the team. After graduating from high school in Valdosta, Georgia, he received a full football scholarship to the University of Wyoming. While he was there, Jim Kiick, who went on to star with the Miami Dolphins, was a teammate. McCann could throw with touch or heave a football 75 yards with pinpoint accuracy.

Southerland's height, strength, and athleticism made him a natural as a defensive end.

Connell was a running back. He could stop on a dime, reverse direction, and be back at full speed in a few steps.

Rich Lewis played on the offensive line. During one game, he lined up as an eligible receiver. McCann faked a throw to the right, while Lewis drifted into the left flat. All the defenders bit, save one. A speedy defensive back shadowed Lewis. The defender made the mistake of letting Lewis get past him, figuring he could easily run down a rotund offensive lineman. McCann wheeled and lofted a perfect pass to Lewis. The defensive back got the surprise of his life. When Lewis scored, the back was unable to close the distance between them.

The only close game was against the team from the FBM USS
Nathan Hale
. The star of their team was a nuclear-trained electrician and full-blooded Apache, Harlie Noyvan. The University of Southern California recruited him as a running back, but he broke his ankle. If he had made the team, he would have joined O.J. Simpson. With less than two minutes left in the game between the
Clay
and
Hale
, we scored a touchdown and led by a single point. The fleet-footed Noyvan took the kickoff and darted down the left sideline. Bob Davis caught the speeding man seven yards short of scoring a touchdown. The game ended when I dove in front of a receiver and slapped the fourth-down pass to the ground.

We rebounded from the one-point victory by trouncing the team from the USS
John Adams
sixty to nothing.

In celebration of our undefeated season, our coach, Lt. Bill Gruver, hosted a team party at his home. The officer gladly accepted getting in trouble for fraternizing with enlisted men. The act instilled in me a deeper respect for the man.

Before I was ready, it was almost time to relieve the
Clay
's Blue Crew.

The day before our departure to Guam, Southerland and I moved out of the apartment and placed our extra belongings in storage. Southerland delivered Hercules to a warehouse on Ford Island. I went with him because the car still had a dead battery. After dropping off the vehicle, Southerland and I walked to Barracks 55, where we spent the night.

The next morning the
Henry Clay
Gold Crew boarded buses and made the journey to Honolulu International Airport. A chartered TWA 747 awaited us. When we entered the terminal, officials hustled us onto the aircraft. The plane taxied onto the tarmac and stopped.

After the aircraft had sat there for over half an hour, upsetting news spread through the plane. We could not take off until the Blue Angel acrobat team completed an air show. Those on the right side of the airliner were able to catch a glimpse of the action. Most sat silently in their seats, stewing over our predicament.

There were similarities between being on the
Clay
when she was several hundred feet below the surface and confined in the plane. Our present circumstance was worse. At least when on patrol, there were not tantalizing views of real trees, sky, distance and the like. Additionally, roles and responsibilities occupied us while at sea.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the airliner began moving. The 3,700-mile flight to Guam had begun.

Off-crew was enjoyable. Now it was time to get down to business. An inner pride built within me. Soon, we would begin thirty days of ensuring the USS
Henry Clay
was ready to sustain a long deterrent patrol, as a guardian of peace.

I had mixed experiences with the Change of Command ceremony.

On the good side, it marked the end of and provided closure to our part of the patrol cycle. When the Blue Crew captain said “I relieve you” to our captain, it was the official passing of responsibilities to the Blue Crew. I particularly liked knowing my being cooped up in an HY-80 prison was over for the next three months. There could not be much of anything better than spending off-crew in Hawaii. Southerland, McCann, Connell, Marchbanks, and I would move into the Honolulu apartment.

There were also aspects of Change of Command I did not enjoy.

Nobody got much sleep. Reveille and up all bunks happened at 0230. Breakfast was 0300 to 0330. Clean up ship lasted from 0400 until 0515. The forty-five minutes allotted to change into dress whites and get all our baggage off the boat was barely enough. Then everybody fell in at quarters on the missile deck at 0600. The
Clay
was usually on the east side of the tender and the sun was up already. It's hot enough on Guam without the sun beating down on us.

I could do without the ceremony's pomp and circumstance, especially the speeches. To me, all the stuff they spouted was hollow, insincere rhetorical BS, although some liked it. I eventually avoided the ceremony. Volunteering for standing a watch in parallel with the Blue Crew gave me a valid reason for not participating in them.

There were also several ugly incidents.

Most involved hung-over sailors getting sick during Change of Command. On one occasion, a nuc was puking his guts out over the side while the chaplain was giving the benediction. The sailor almost drowned out the poor soft-spoken chaplain. I think he threw up longer than the prayer lasted. I'll give the chaplain credit. He didn't miss a beat.

Although such incidents were bad, they did not hold a candle to the worst.

The ugliest happened when some of our officers' wives attended. Since Guam is not too far from Japan, the officers flew their wives to Guam. After the Change of Command ceremony, they would spend a nice vacation in Japan.

In order to put on a show for the women, Squadron 15 pulled out all the stops on pomp and circumstance. The squadron commander was the premier speaker. He had a ton of medals, gold aiguillettes, and his sword. Two squared-away aides accompanied him. All of our officers' uniforms were starched and pressed. As usual, chief petty officers made up the front rows of each crew. I think it was to hide the unkempt enlisted men.

The squadron bigwig was piling it on pretty thick. He was going on and on about the importance of FBMs and how wonderful both crews were. He was quite eloquent. During his speech, we started detecting a foul odor. Of course, everyone started looking around thinking someone had farted. It didn't take long to figure out that wasn't the case, but we couldn't determine the source. As the officer droned on, the smell kept getting stronger and stronger. Pretty soon, hardly anyone was paying attention to the speaker. Finally, someone saw a large dead fish floating in the harbor. It was drifting right towards us. As the carcass got closer, the smell intensified. Eventually, the thing banged against the side of the boat. At that point, the situation got really ugly. The bumping action released even more and stronger vile odors. It wasn't long before people started puking.

The squadron commander interrupted his speech and suspended the Change of Command ceremony. The wives, squadron personnel and our officers went to the tender. The crews went below. After one of the submarine tender's small boats hauled the fish out to sea, we reconvened for an abbreviated ceremony.

A few weeks into the ensuing R & R period, Southerland and I got into a discussion about food.

We grew up under different circumstances. He was from the city and never even knew a hunter. I grew up in the country where just about everybody went hunting and fishing. That was how many of my neighbors put food on the table. Although my family bought meat from the store, it wasn't unusual for friends to eat venison, wild fowl, squirrel, or rabbit. My neighborhood friend Jack loved rabbit. One patrol the
Clay
's cooks served rabbit. Up to then, I'd never knowingly eaten any. Based on Jack's opinion, I had to see what I'd been missing. It wasn't anything special. Southerland refused to eat it. Feeling so bad about the poor bunnies, he avoided the mess deck during that meal and went hungry. He never forgave me for eating the rabbit.

In general, the food on the submarine was good. That changed towards the end of patrols. There was less selection as food ran out. Quality also decreased. At the end of one patrol, the cooks prepared chicken à la king and noodles. They saw the noodles had worms and served it anyway. I ate the stuff just like almost everybody else. At least it was fresh meat. One of the A-Gangers had seconds.

The term for a hot chocolate on the
Clay
was “lovely.” It was used in the same context as: I'll have a “black and bitter” or “blonde and sweet.” The hot chocolate came in individualized instant packets that also developed worms. I would dump a packet into hot water and every so often, worms would float to the surface. Initially, I would pour out my cup and try another. Eventually, every packet had them. I would take a spoon, remove the worms, and drink the hot chocolate.

Until joining the Navy, the fanciest seafood I'd ever eaten was my mom's fish filets. Other than that, it was whatever I caught fishing and cooked over an open campfire.

That all changed when I was on the USS
Fulton
. After I'd had lobster and shrimp, every kind of seafood appealed to my taste buds. When Southerland, McCann and I were at a Honolulu restaurant, I ordered baked trout. I had no idea its head would still be there. It had an effect on Southerland. He thought the fish was looking at him and begging for help, but it was way too late. After seeing how it affected him, I felt bad. Southerland was grateful when I covered its head with a napkin.

Talking about food made both of us hungry. We decided to walk to the Ala Moana Shopping Center. There was a contemporary restaurant under the stairs. It had good food and a limited seafood selection. The steaks were excellent. What we got on the
Clay
was OK but nothing special. Both of us were in the mood for a grade-A steak. It was probably due an incident the previous week. A couple of our apartment roommates fell asleep while broiling steaks and cooking corn on the cob. It was the middle of the night. The smoke woke me up. I managed to turn off the stove just in time. The steak and corn were charcoal but there weren't any flames. I was amazed how such a little bit of food could generate so much smoke.

At the end of Atkinson Drive, we stopped and waited for a break in the traffic. A group of newly arrived tourists was beside us. They smelled of suntan lotion and were as pale as Southerland and me. It was raining on the other side of the street. We were in bright sunshine. It was typical Hawaiian weather.

One of the tourists shouted, “Look, a rainbow!”

We turned our heads. Nestled against the inland hills was a beautiful rainbow. We crossed the street. Before reaching the opposite sidewalk, the shower was over. The rainbow was fading. Its brief appearance was a symbol of hope. Southerland and I had several patrols left. So far, the
Clay
had escaped some close calls. I prayed our luck continued.

In Ala Moana Shopping Center's courtyard, the exotic sounds of piped-in Hawaiian music caressed our ears. The open space separating the rows of stores had palm trees and a stream, creating a peaceful ambiance. Many people meandered about. Most had the demeanor of tourists. I thought it was strange that so many people flocked to this artificially created commercialized place. The natural beauty of Hawaii abounded nearly everywhere on the island. When several lovely young ladies in miniskirts walked by, I banished the condemnation from my mind and offered a thank-you to God for the women's presence. During the past three months, I did not realize how much I missed seeing females up close and personal. We enjoyed the scenery as we made our way to the restaurant.

The restaurant's dim lights and soft Hawaiian music greeted us. There were tropical plants strategically situated throughout the room. Ironed tablecloths, candles, and fresh flowers adorned tables. A young vahine dressed in a tight-fitting flowered muumuu welcomed us. She led us to a table. The soft, thick carpet muffled her footsteps. The woman's hips swayed rhythmically to the beat of the music.

Her perfume wafted into my nose and I savored the smell.

The restaurant's ambiance sure contrasted the
Henry Clay
's mess deck.

I got a cozy feeling from the soft lighting. The
Clay
's fluorescent lights created a harsh, sterile setting. Having our tables bolted to the linoleum deck didn't help. The thin cushions covered in red Naugahyde vinyl on the bench seats were no match for stylish plush chairs. If submarine sailors weren't such slobs, they would have fine linen tablecloths instead of cheap plastic ones. In our defense, it was hard not to spill food when the submarine was at periscope depth, in rough weather. Because we were crammed so tightly together, stuff ended up on the table when we bumped into each other. Having Formica on the walls made them easy to clean. The plethora of equipment and instruments gracing the mess deck's bulkheads certainly didn't contribute to a homey touch. At least we had a velvet painting of a girl.