Three Knots to Nowhere (5 page)

The courses included classical physics, thermodynamics, reactor chemistry, metallurgy, radiation protection, nuclear physics, and reactor core design.

The author at the entrance to Nuclear Power School, Naval Training Center, Bainbridge, Maryland. From the archives of Ted E. Dubay (spring 1968).

This portion proved to be as challenging as promised. There were eight hours of class every day. Two to four hours of daily self-study followed the instruction. Study hours were also in the classroom, because the material presented to the students was classified military information and could not leave the building.

In the final segment, officials segregated the trainees by job classification: mechanic, electrician, and electronics technician. During these, we received specific training in reactor and system operation geared toward our specialty.

Many could not sustain the frenetic pace. One of my classmates succumbed to the stress and committed suicide. Others failed out in all phases of the school. Nuclear Power School used the 4.0 scale. Any score less than 2.5 was a failure. A ditty circulated through the student population with regard to grades: 2.5 and survive, 2.8 and skate.

There were few breaks. I was determined to pass. Passing would keep all of my original four options open. I spent most evenings preparing for the next day's classes.

To maintain my sanity, I would occasionally steal away and play basketball. In one pickup game, I teamed with a tall red-haired player. I was a good outside shooter and he was excellent under the basket. In addition to our complementary playing styles, we had great chemistry. It was the beginning of my friendship with Southerland. We tried to team up whenever possible.

Sometimes, weekend evenings found Southerland, Souder and me at Fiddler's Green, the base enlisted men's club. Beside the inexpensive 3.2 beer and a drinking age of 18, it had another attraction. Wave boot camp resided at Bainbridge and the female recruits got liberty.

I had another outlet to ease the stress of Nuclear Power School. My older brother Frank attended college in Philadelphia. It was a two-hour bus ride from Bainbridge. Visiting my brother allowed a complete escape from military associations. We played sports during the day and attended school-organized activities such as dances in the evening. On the few occasions I could make an escape, I'd leave base Friday and return Sunday afternoon so I could spend the evening preparing for Monday classes.

Nuclear Power School was in an otherwise abandoned part of the base, far from any of the other active factions. Due to the intensity of the lessons, school officials relaxed many normal military requirements and we enjoyed privileges the others on the base did not have. Because of our elite training, we displayed an unwarranted aloofness. These factors created animosity between the nucs and the other sailors at Bainbridge.

After lunch one day, a large contingent of nucs was waiting for the bus to take us back to school. Several groups of radioman trainees marched by.

Somebody in our group mockingly sang out, “I love a parade.”

In response, one of the radiomen's leaders called his class to a halt and approached us demanding, “Who said that?”

About 30 of the nucs independently responded with, “I did!”

We surrounded the little group.

The man's eyes grew wide as he recognized the error of his actions. He rapidly and meekly marched his subordinates out of our clutches.

Twenty-four weeks after the start of Nuclear Power School, an eight-hour comprehensive written exam (comp) provided the grand finale. Elimination was the fate of many who were unable to score greater than 2.5.

As a sidelight, Rickover thought the Comprehensive Exam scores for 67–4 were too low and demanded a re-grade. I believe he liked to show off how smart
his
people were. He had his standards, because no one who failed the first grading passed after the second review.

I finished the school with a 3.144 average.

I spent the last half of Nuclear Power School at the U.S. Naval Nuclear Power Training Unit (NPTU), Windsor, Connecticut. It was a prototype of a submarine nuclear power plant, associated electrical generation, and steam propulsion equipment. Sailors simply called it prototype. It was one of three similar training facilities. The Windsor site was designated S1C. The “S” stood for submarine, the “1” meant it was the first of its type, and the “C” denoted that Combustion Engineering, Incorporated, had built it. Located in Idaho was S5W, the fifth submarine Westinghouse design. Situated in Saratoga Springs, New York, D1G was the initial General Electric reactor design for destroyers.

I reported to S1C, Windsor, Connecticut, on May 6, 1968. I thought the security was tight at Basic Nuclear Power School, but it was nothing compared to prototype. It bordered on paranoia. Trainees had to live off base. When traveling to and from the site, the Navy required us to wear civilian clothes. This made it more difficult to determine how many men were in training. When onsite, trainees changed into dungaree uniforms with blue ball caps, and wore white pinned-on nametags.

From the moment we reported, the staff dispersed warnings about Russian spies. They could be anybody. We should be especially suspicious of people who seemed too friendly. One of the examples of subversive activities concerned a sailor from a Fleet Ballistic Missile submarine who sold nuclear technical manuals to the Soviets. I found out much later that he was a crewmember of the USS
Henry Clay
.

As in Bainbridge, we studied onsite, because of the classified nature of the training materials.

The first phase of prototype consisted of 10 weeks of classroom instruction on S1C's systems and components. There were eight hours of classes followed by four hours of mandatory study, five days a week.

Saturday study sessions were mandatory when a student could not maintain the proper grades. If this did not improve academic progress, school officials restricted him to the site and he had to live in Quonset huts, nicknamed the Hymie Hilton. Confining students to the site allowed maximizing study by eliminating behaviors that had a negative effect on the learning process, such as drinking and staying out late.

My determination to complete the training kept my performance at an acceptable level.

To counteract the intense instruction, I frequented a Hartford nightclub. One night, I met Kathy. We hit it off from the start. Our dates and the time we spent with her family helped ease the stress of the demanding curriculum.

On May 27, 1968, bad news circulated throughout S1C. The submarine USS
Scorpion
and her crew of 99 did not arrive in port as scheduled. Rumors of her fate quickly spread. They ranged from a Russian submarine sinking her with a torpedo to an explosion in the
Scorpion
's battery.

Many of the sailors at S1C were destined for submarine duty. We followed the sparse news reports with great interest. The official Navy position was that the submarine was “delayed.” A week later the Navy upgraded
Scorpion
's status to missing. After a few more days, the Navy classified her as lost, but without stating a cause.

I understood submarine duty was dangerous. The incident really brought the danger to the forefront. Many men considered non-volunteering (commonly termed non-volling) from submarines. Only a few actually acted upon it.

In spite of the tragedy, training proceeded as scheduled. The expectation was that we remain unaffected by the knowledge of one of our submarines being lost with all hands. For me, I summoned the necessary fortitude and did not let the tragedy have a negative effect on my academic performance.

The school's staff divided those who made it through the first part of prototype into four operating crews. The trainees worked rotating shifts. The day and evening shifts were 12 hours. Night shift was 10 hours.

Prototype's second half consisted of 16 weeks re-studying systems and components, with an emphasis on in-rate areas and more in-depth instruction. Standing instructional watches and accomplishing watch standing practical factors, such as operating equipment and responding to plant casualties, were the bill of fare. Inferior academic achievement of not progressing through qualification cards fast enough carried the same penalty as the classroom portion: a reserved room in the Hymie Hilton.

During this portion of the training, my mom's parents died within weeks of each other. I was very close to them and deeply saddened. Due to the pace of the instruction and the need for nucs in the fleet, school officials would not grant permission to attend my grandparents' funerals. As with the loss of the
Scorpion
, the events were not supposed to affect my performance. In spite of the expectations, my grades suffered a severe drop-off. The school imposed two penalties. Officials withdrew the recommendation for me to advance to third-class electrician's mate. They also sentenced me to the maximum extra mandatory study hours, without having to move into the Hymie Hilton. The worst effect was not having time to spend with Kathy. We maintained our relationship over the phone for a few weeks, but it was not enough and we broke up.

My resolve to make it through Nuclear Power School carried me through this tough time. I worked hard and my grades rebounded. Before long, school administrators reduced my mandatory study time.

After completing all qualification requirements, which some did faster than others, each trainee had to pass a final comprehensive written examination. If students overcame that obstacle, a several-hour oral examination awaited them.

When trainees passed all exams, their qualification was complete and a pink nametag replaced the white one. Earning a pink tag was the source of pride. It essentially became the diploma for completing Nuclear Power School, because there was no certificate. The only ritual conducted was having your pink tag crumpled by those who had already received their own. The order of qualification was evident by the condition of the tag. The first man to qualify had a pristine tag and the last had a mutilated one. I hate to admit it, but mine was very wrinkled. I took it in stride and was proud to complete the demanding program with a final score of 3.035.

Sans
a graduation ceremony, the S1C contingent of 67–4 departed prototype on November 8, 1968. A group of us destined for submarine school engaged in a discussion about our orders.

Some were confused. The orders said Submarine School, New London–Groton, Connecticut. They wanted to know why there were two towns.

Having served in the area on the USS
Fulton
, I had the answer. The submarine base and sub school are located in Groton, across the Thames River from New London.

In 1915, when the submarine base became an entity, the boats docked in Groton. Due to a lack of buildings in Groton, the administrative offices were in New London. By the time the staff moved and joined the submarines, it was too late. The mailing address in New London was too well established. It was a lot easier to add Groton than eliminate New London. Hence, Submarine School, New London-Groton, Connecticut.

Southerland shrugged, “Guess I'll see y'all and the rest of 67–4 in Groton.”

Holding the submarine school orders ignited excitement and nervousness. I was about to join an elite force, but as the loss of the USS
Scorpion
drove home, submarine duty is dangerous.

Class 67–4 arrived at submarine school in November 1968. The school convened classes every two months and we had just missed the latest class-up. The next class would begin early January 1969.

In the interim, Class 67–4 performed menial chores. The petty officers stood barrack master-at-arms watches. One day, we loaded several tons of lead ballast into the bowels of the submarine rescue vessel, USS
Skylark
. It was a somber experience. She was escorting the USS
Thresher
on the submarine's fateful last dive. I, still an electrician's mate fireman, mostly swept barrack floors and did groundskeeping tasks. Compared to the rigor of Nuclear Power School, it was like a vacation.

Southerland and I reunited on the basketball court. We ended up playing for the welding school team in the submarine base league, although neither of were training to be welders. The league's cream of the crop was the Submarine School Raiders. They won the championship. I think Southerland had enough talent to play for the Raiders, but he chose not to pursue that avenue.

I began Basic Enlisted Submarine School on January 6, 1969. The curriculum was a combination of classroom instruction and hands-on activities.

The classroom portion presented the basic operation of the systems in a 640-class Fleet Ballistic Missile submarine. Unlike Nuclear Power School, I found the tests easy and did not have to study.

The hands-on instruction consisted of submarine firefighting strategies and damage control techniques such as stopping leaks using emergency methods. I was particularly interested in learning how to stop piping leaks. Unofficial reports said the initiating event leading to the sinking of the USS
Thresher
was a leaking seawater pipe.