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.