The language of God

I was a nuclear reactor oprerator in the Navy. I controlled the rate of something called a fission reaction. The world has seen this reaction twice in an uncontrolled state in 1945 at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I could not see the reaction; I could only see its effects. I knew it was happening because of things I could measure - temperature and pressure to be specific. God created the universe and all that is in it. We will never know what that incredible moment looked like this side of heaven, but it could very well have been a very big bang. Our own Sun is a continuous nuclear reaction - it is known as fusion, something man has not been able to sustain or control. But I was trained to control fission. In a sense, it is the language of God. I controlled the release of energy from fission; used it to create steam that pushed a massive submerged ship through the ocean . . . I quite literally had the power in the palm of my hand. God's voice is in that reaction - in that power. I heard him very clearly. It is not in words that I could put to paper . . . not all of the words that God speaks can be penned. Nonetheless, it is a language I understood and still understand. It allows me to rest assured that God is in complete control and that faith - my faith - is a verb, an action - it is something I act upon and rely on. My last two pastors have spoken of a spiritual language that is available to all believers and allows us to converse with him in spirit. I believe in that gift. I have heard others speak it and can feel the Spirit of God in their voices. I have prayed for it. I am now beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, not all the languages we can talk to God with in the Spirit involve words of any kind. I am not sure if any other nuclear reactor operator has ever experienced God through the switch that controls the fission reaction, but I have and it sustains me to this day and I know that it will sustain me to my very last day on Earth.

Comraderie

Comraderie is one of those words that can mean different things to different groups of people - usually it brings to mind people who like to hang out together. On board submarines this connotation does not come even close. Some of us did like to hang out together; some of us hated each other - tremendously; some of us ignored each other, and some of us . . . Well let's just say there were those who really could have been aliens. But two things were certain about all of us - we shared a common goal which was to ensure our mission was successful and we would die for each other if the need arose. 5th graders do not grasp this concept very easily. They are wrapped up in video games and who is the boyfriend/girlfriend of so an so - kind of humorous actually. Jesus had these twelve guys who swore allegiance to him. They said they would hang with him through the valley of death if needed. These were some awesome dudes. They would build the church and lay the foundations for the Christian faith. Yet, when it came time to stand up and be counted, they scattered like so much mist on the wind. I think about that and what that might have looked like on a submarine and know that it could never have worked. The captain expected and deserved his crews devotion to duty and to his fellow shipmates. In a way the very fact that we were captives on that boat when it was greater than 400 feet down made it impossible to do otherwise. Jesus did not have this luxury; his crew abandoned him during his greatest need. But he NEVER abandoned them. He restored them, encouraged them, and pushed them to greater achievements. 5th graders understand this and respond to it; so do Christians - we depend on each other for it; the Bible tells us to encourage each other and that we can have no greater love than to lay our lives down for a friend. That's comraderie.

Professional and Fun

The word “fun” is not often associated with life on a Submarine. Isolated, boring, intense, routine, secretive, and claustrophobia are words that more than likely come to mind. However, life on the USS John C. Calhoun (SSBN 630) sure had times you could call fun.

The captain of the Calhoun taught me it was okay to be professional and to have a good time while doing so. You had to know when the right time was because professional and fun had their proper places. After all, we were pushing around nuclear missiles.

The first time I realized that the Calhoun would be different than any other boat I would ever be on was during a maneuvering watch heading out on a deterrent patrol – “being really stealthy in the ocean so that no one can find you” is what that means. I had noticed that a very large powered megaphone had been placed on the starboard fairwater plane – this would go in the category of highly unusual for a submarine. What happened with this haze gray megaphone was something I would never forget.

We were heading up the Cooper River in Charleston, South Carolina and rounding a bend where we would pass many frigates, destroyers and COMSUBGRU 6. The later was the building that was home to the boss of the Calhoun’s captain. An order was given by the captain to the Control Room. And the megaphone came to life. It was singing. It was singing John Phillip Sousa’s Dixie Land. “I wish I was in the land of cotton . . .” It sang that song until we had cleared the main part of the naval base. I was told by several shipmates that the captain did this every time he left port – I had not believed them. Professionalism laced with a bit of rebellious fun.

I have mentioned drills before. Being awakened by ships alarms is not fun. I guess the Calhoun’s captain felt the same way.

I was laying in my bunkie when I heard a familiar bit of music come over the ship’s announcing system. It started low and continued to build . . . it was the theme from Jaws, the part where you knew the great white shark was going to attack. The next sound was the words, “Man Battle Stations, Torpedo!” The crew came to life and we manned our battle stations.

I was in awe of this captain. For Battle Stations Missile, he played Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell prior to sounding the appropriate alarm.

After the drills for firing a torpedo or launching a missile, the captain played Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust. Professionalism laced with a bit of rebellious fun.

During the time I was attached to the Calhoun, the captain was Commander T. J. O’Brien. I am sure he will never realize the impact he had on me. He taught me that you could be professional, effective, and successful and you could throw in your own brand of fun while doing it.

I have fun teaching my 5^th grade students science and social studies. My students seem to remember those lessons the best.

I am not sure that there is any written evidence that Jesus had fun. But, I try to imagine thirteen guys sitting around a campfire today . . . just sayin’.

Things that go bump in the night (Part II)

We were doing what fast attack submarines sometimes do – stuff I can’t tell you about.

The seas were not friendly there – if I recall correctly, about a sea state 3 or 4; it was rough. The boat gets tossed by the waves and sometimes broaches – comes out of the water a bit and slaps back down. I was on the mess decks drinking a cup of “bug juice” to pass the time. There were two newbies in the corner studying to become Submariners.

The boat rolled and lifted to the starboard side and a screeching sound like metal-on-metal came from the port side of the bow area. In that same moment I ordered the two newbies to man phones and start breaking out damage control gear. Simultaneously the ships announcing system came to life – “Collision, port side!”

In the next few minutes sailors filled the mess decks and headed in various directions to stations they could find with their eyes closed – manning designated areas for a collision at sea. I was relieved of my duties on the mess decks and headed aft to the Engine Room to check the status of my nuclear reactor – it was unaffected by the collision.

One hundred twenty sailors did exactly what they had practiced – they checked high and low for potential hull breeches; checked and re-checked that equipment was operating properly; made reports to the Control Room; ensured that all personnel were accounted for. It was like watching a choreographed dance routine.

Was the Baton Rouge ever in danger of resting on the bottom of the ocean? No one knew the answer to that until every inch of the interior of that submarine had been scrutinized. We could sail another day. The boat and crew returned home. Our collision had made international news. The story that was never told was how the crew had responded – all the practice was forgotten as we realized that we had once again done what Submariner’s do; we were the Baton Rouge, we did what needed to be done to ensure the safety of our boat and the men who were part of her.

Practice made the response to a collision on a submarine seem second nature. A piano concerto played with utmost feeling requires months and sometimes years of practice. Teaching in a classroom full of 5^th graders takes lots of practice and heart. Jesus practiced, too.

He practiced talking to his Father. When his disciples asked him how they should pray, he gave them a template:

Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name.
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
As we forgive our debtors.
And do not lead us into temptation,
But deliver us from the evil one.
For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen. (Matthew 6:9-13, NKJV)

We are instructed to “pray without ceasing.” Practice. Practice really won’t make us perfect, but with practice the piano becomes an extension of the fingers that play it. A submarine survives a collision. And you talk to God as you would your best friend.

Practice does have its benefits.

What is a Submariner?

I did not write this, but it is better than anything I could have written . . .

What Is A Submariner?

Only a submariner realizes to what great extent an entire boat depends on him as an individual. To a landsman, this is not understandable, and sometimes even difficult for us to comprehend, but it is so! A submarine at sea is a different world within herself, and in consideration of the protracted and distant operations of submarines, the Navy must place responsibility and trust in the hands of those who take such boats to sea. In each submarine there are men who, in the hour of emergency or peril at sea, can turn to each other. These men are ultimately responsible to themselves and each to the other for all aspects of operation of their submarine. They are the crew. They are the boat. This is perhaps the most difficult and demanding assignment in the Navy. There is not an instant during his tour as a submariner that he can escape the grasp of responsibility. His privileges in view of his obligations are almost ludicrously small, nevertheless, it is the spur which has given the Navy its greatest marines - the men of the Submarine Service. It is a duty which most richly deserves the proud and time-honored title of - Submariner. - Author Unknown

Things that go bump in the night – why practice is important

Part of living on a nuclear sub at sea is drills. These are scheduled practice events of possible casualty situations where the entire crew is deprived of sleep in order to perfect our skills of waking up to heinous alarms, banging our heads on the overhead in our rack – that’s a cute term for a bed, putting our clothes on in under 30 seconds and being at a particular station in less than two minutes. There were members of the crew who got to observe and comment on the rest of the crew’s performance during these drills and they relished their position in a sadistic kind of way – I know because I certainly did when I was the observer. Drills made a long day longer for everyone – a long and tiring day that sapped what seemed to be all of your energy, but it was something we knew we had to do. Just in case.

There were lots of different drills we could run. Fires just about anywhere. Unplanned nuclear reactor shutdowns. Launching missiles or torpedoes. Flooding. Collisions. Lions and tigers and bears – oh, my! Well, it seemed that way.

Most of us hated drills. Often you had to wear masks that helped you breathe – these were called EABs; Emergency Breathing Apparatus. These were not fun to use. Since they were not fun, drills were not fun. To wear an EAB, you would slip the main headpiece over your head and tighten the straps so it was really snug on your face. This was good – it kept the bad air out. On the front of the EAB was a hose that if you let it hang, made you look like an elephant with a thin trunk. You had to plug this in to a breathing station. When I wore an EAB these stations never seemed to be close enough – I always felt like I was on my last breath before I got to the next one. I managed to never pass out though. I wear glasses – these are not convenient in an EAB - just so you know.

I did not look forward to drills. I did them and I usually did them well – both as a participant and an observer.

Like the rest of the crew, I hoped we would never ever have to use them in a real emergency. It was required training. We performed for organizations that were the boss of my captain. They wanted to make sure we could do our job. We were proud of how we could handle ourselves during these practices. I was proud to be part of this crew.

I always hoped we would never have to use our training in a situation where the boat was really in danger.

In February 1992 I was attached to the USS Baton Rouge (SSN 689) as the Reactor Controls Leading Petty Officer and our practicing was put to the test.

What this book isn't.

This book isn’t about life on a nuclear powered submarine. Life onboard was fairly mundane. I slept. I ate – sometimes the food was good and sometimes it was REALLY bad. I worked and studied. I performed maintenance on equipment and I observed others use their skills in the performance of their duties. It was a job – where I worked was an underwater missile platform; that is what makes it unique. Our purpose was to launch a retaliatory nuclear strike if required and I supported that purpose.

I will not be telling much about the mission of the submarines I was on. Those were classified. Most missions were categorized as “SECRET” and some were more than likely higher than that. Because I was a member of the crew I had access to information due to the nature of my job and the studies I needed to complete that I might not otherwise have had. Information from those missions that has been made public could pop up here and there.

This will not be an anti-war or pro-war commentary about submarines. It is not a biased opinion of what I thought about the mission I had volunteered for one way or the other.

It will be a collection of reflections on the experiences I had during eighteen years and eight months of voluntary service onboard the most deadly piece of weaponry in the US Navy’s arsenal and how those experiences have carried forward into my civilian life.

I retired from the Navy on October 31, 1995. I joked with family and friends that I could now dress-up as a civilian. What I have discovered in the years since my retirement is that is exactly what I do – I dress-up as a civilian; in my heart I am still a member of one of the most elite groups in the US Navy. I am a Submariner.

So, these are the things I learned along the way. I hope you find these personal reflections both enjoyable and something you can use in your own life. I wish you fair winds and following seas.

I do want to thank my wife and best friend, Carol, for putting up with many things that come with a retired Submariner. We - I can be pretty set in my ways. Love you!

I would also like to thank my daughter, Virginia, and my long time friends Dot and Karen for their invaluable feedback on this project.

When an obstacle squeezes you, squeeze back . . . it just might let go

Saying, "Hello" is usually one of those things that you don't have to think too much about. You just say it and if the person you greeted is so inclined to - and not zoning in some faraway place - they may return your greeting. Simple. Not on submarines.

I had just reported aboard the USS Nathan Hale, SSBN 623 - a fleet ballistic missle submarine (the kind that could destroy the world if ordered to). I was finding my way around below decks and entered the realm of the Engine Room which would be where I would perform my duties and study to be a nuclear operator. I was minding my own business . . . I really was. I started to walk through the hatch to Engine Room Upper Level and was grabbed by a gorilla's arm. Okay - it just felt that way. It was a Machinist Mate - one of those sailors that operates really big pieces of equipment on the submarine and usually have arms as big as your thighs (we called them "knuckle draggers" in the Navy - usually not to their face). He was short, stocky, and just wanted to say, "Hello."

As quickly as he had yanked me through the hatch, he just as quickly turned me on my head, said, "Welcome to the Engine Room!" and took his other huge paw, grabbed hold of my man area, and squeezed as hard as he could. I was at the mercy of Big Earl.

Lots of things ran through my mind. "This hurts." "What is this all about?" "Is this guy on drugs?" But mostly I was wondering how to get out of this little welcome ritual of his. I figured I could only do one thing . . . with both of my hands I grabbed him and squeezed right back.

To this day I am not sure if anyone had ever done that to him, but I discovered that it pays to squeeze your obstacles back - Big Earl let go.

In fact, we became pretty good friends after our encounter. He helped me enormously when it came to understanding how the machinery in the Engineroom operated. He was my go-to guy for questions and advice when it came to his domain. Because of him, I was able to qualify quickly in the areas I needed to comprehend to become a Nuclear Reactor Operator on this Navy vessel. He was awesome!

I have faced many obstacles in life. The most recent is being a 5th grade teacher at a school in Florida. But it all comes back to some basics - when an obstacle gets in your way you can let it overpower you and squeeze the life and drive from your soul or you can grab it, squeeze back and pray for the strength to keep squeezing until it lets go.

Jesus told some of his friends to look at a mountain. I can only imagine their thoughts. "Here we go again, another story." "Is he gonna tell us somethign we won't understand until later - again?" "Good grief, does he ever get tired of riddles?" What he said next must've floored them. He told them that the huge obstacle in front of them could be squeezed out of the way if they had 1/1000 of a meter of faith - faith the size of a mustard seed. Just imagine what could be done with two hands full of that stuff!

So, when an obstacle squeezes you so hard your eyes cross and you can't do anything else, take a really deep breath, ask God for the strength, take both your hands, grab it, squeeze it, and don't let go until the obstacle can hold on no longer. Who knows, it may become a stepping stone or a friend.