Soothing the angst I remember a visit to another Los Angeles class submarine, the Newport News around 2000. Of the select spaces we were permitted to inspect was of course the galley. There four civilians chatted with four sailors amidst the aroma of cookies fresh from an oven. These submarine sailors (and three others I met aboard) were articulate, smart and professional. They are the kind of people that Kevin is working with now. The memory of these conversations and the cookies reassure. Moods follow food.
Hand shaking my shoulder - "Watch in 30 minutes! Go to the mess deck." A training cruise, I was 18. Dressing quickly - I passed through a dim, red lit passageway and dropped down a ladder into a dimly lit Destroyer Escort mess deck. There galley crew were passing out to those on midnight watch a sandwich - fresh, warm bread enclosing thick slices of Spam, slathered with yellow mustard and a cup of steaming, black coffee. That snack rushed me up to an edge - from midnight till 4:00 AM that DE had the most alert, far sighted, stern lookout in US naval history. Today, when thinking about that splendid sandwich and coffee I spring to a heightened vigilance and scan the Florida horizon for alien vessels.
On the other hand - another cruise - another DE - having just completed a 4:00 to 8:00 AM watch and exhausted, I dropped down the ladder into a noisy, crowded mess deck. On a steel tray I collected breakfast; beans, franks and two hard boiled eggs. In the ship's vernacular, "rat turds, dog turds and a pair of knockers". Finding a place to sit I glanced up just in time to watch a sailor with a tear in his jeans ascend the ladder - his ass crack flashed back and forth with every step up. My gaze returned to my tray and spoon. Words suddenly began pounding on the back of my head.
"Get UP! Get your ass out of here! Now! Are you deaf?"
I turned my head and considered an angry petty officer's face just inches away. He continued hollering as I was rising to address him. Then I was screaming at him - using "fuck" as noun, verb and direct object - threatening phrases, "your teeth in your hands" and "your nuts in a knot". He backed away to a bulkhead and slumped down into a semi-crouch. I paused, sensed a silence, then returned to my tray. The buzz on the mess deck revived back up. The sailor across from me looked sad, "you can't do that" and scooped up some beans.
More screaming. "Stand up sailor!" I kind of jumped up and faced a Chief - almost - he was half my height. Again the mess deck was quiet.
"You looking for a fight boy?" - "No Chief."
"You pretty good with your hands?" - "No Chief."
"You want to fight me?" - "No Chief."
Disgusted he looked me over, up and down, turned and stormed out a hatch, almost without ducking, Again the mess chatter revived.
As I sat down the sailor on the left, "Probably means a Captain's Mast." My sad eyed friend nodded in agreement and kept on eating. I skipped breakfast that morning. My flirtation with a mutiny did not result in a disciplinary hearing. Three decades would pass before my next meal of beans and franks. But now I have a deep affection for the sight, smell and taste of sugar cookies.
US Navy photo: SNN 723 Breaching - by Fabio Pena.
US Navy photo: SNN 723 - Chris Oxley.
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