into a small unfurnished apartment in the Plains public housing project. Our nicest piece of furniture at that time was a white oak cabinet that I had built while we lived on the submarine base in Honolulu. It had mitered corners and recessed hinges and was designed to hold our high-fidelity radio and record system.
Submarines
After two years I had the option of being assigned to another surface ship or applying for one of the three more special careers: intelligence, the naval air force, or submarines. By this time I had developed a strong inclination to operate at sea, so after careful consideration I decided to compete for one of the few assignments to submarines. I was selected, passed the claustrophobia and other psychological tests, and Rosalynn, our son Jack, and I moved to New London, Connecticut, for six months of intensive training with fifty other officers, a few of whom were from foreign countries. The instruction was highly practical, as we learned about the construction and diving principles of the ships themselves; assembling, storing, and firing torpedoes; operating the different guns used when on the surface; caring for the many large electric batteries that propelled the ship when submerged; and special seamanship techniques in handling the fragile vessel, with its strong and watertight inner hull surrounded by thin tanks, easily damaged.
(Note: We referred interchangeably to submarines as “ships” or “boats,” and usually pronounced “submariner” with the accent on the third syllable.)
There had been a number of fatal underwater accidents during previous years, and we were required to practice escaping from a damaged submarine that could not surface. Pressurized escape hatches would let a few men at a time leave the ship and enter the surrounding sea, at depthsup to three hundred feet. Rising through the water had to be done slowly and carefully to prevent the air in our lungs, which was under great pressure, being forced into our bloodstreams and causing unconsciousness or death. There was a one-hundred-foot tank at the submarine base, and we would go into the bottom, become accustomed to the high pressure, and then ascend through the water while clamping a small rope between our bare feet to control upward speed and breathing in and out through a Momsen lung. This clumsy device removed carbon dioxide from our exhaled breath and provided enough oxygen for survival. A few other trainees and I volunteered to make what was called a “free ascent,” without the artificial breathing device. It was crucial to watch the exhaled bubbles and not go up any faster than they did. It was a very unpleasant experience, and it is still my most vivid memory of those early submarine days. I was determined not to permit any other trainees to exceed my performance.
At the same time, I was fascinated as never before by the submarine force, including its proud history and the mandatory intimacy of all the members of the crew. Although some of the enlisted men could concentrate almost exclusively on their own fields of responsibility as enginemen, electricians, torpedo experts, boatswains, quartermasters, gunners, or operators of navigation or fire control equipment, every officer was expected to master all these disciplines. We knew that one mistake in judgment, a lack of knowledge, or an error in opening or closing a valve could endanger everyone onboard.
I was at submarine school in November 1948 and discovered that I was the only student there who planned to vote for Harry Truman. The other officers thought that he was too liberal on economic matters, gave inadequate attention to defense issues, and had no chance to win. His commitment to racial equality was never mentioned, but it may have been a factor. Rosalynn and I became tired of trying to defend his record in the mess hall or when we were with any of the other students in our private quarters, all of whom voted for Thomas Dewey. No one wanted to talk to
Submarines
After two years I had the option of being assigned to another surface ship or applying for one of the three more special careers: intelligence, the naval air force, or submarines. By this time I had developed a strong inclination to operate at sea, so after careful consideration I decided to compete for one of the few assignments to submarines. I was selected, passed the claustrophobia and other psychological tests, and Rosalynn, our son Jack, and I moved to New London, Connecticut, for six months of intensive training with fifty other officers, a few of whom were from foreign countries. The instruction was highly practical, as we learned about the construction and diving principles of the ships themselves; assembling, storing, and firing torpedoes; operating the different guns used when on the surface; caring for the many large electric batteries that propelled the ship when submerged; and special seamanship techniques in handling the fragile vessel, with its strong and watertight inner hull surrounded by thin tanks, easily damaged.
(Note: We referred interchangeably to submarines as “ships” or “boats,” and usually pronounced “submariner” with the accent on the third syllable.)
There had been a number of fatal underwater accidents during previous years, and we were required to practice escaping from a damaged submarine that could not surface. Pressurized escape hatches would let a few men at a time leave the ship and enter the surrounding sea, at depthsup to three hundred feet. Rising through the water had to be done slowly and carefully to prevent the air in our lungs, which was under great pressure, being forced into our bloodstreams and causing unconsciousness or death. There was a one-hundred-foot tank at the submarine base, and we would go into the bottom, become accustomed to the high pressure, and then ascend through the water while clamping a small rope between our bare feet to control upward speed and breathing in and out through a Momsen lung. This clumsy device removed carbon dioxide from our exhaled breath and provided enough oxygen for survival. A few other trainees and I volunteered to make what was called a “free ascent,” without the artificial breathing device. It was crucial to watch the exhaled bubbles and not go up any faster than they did. It was a very unpleasant experience, and it is still my most vivid memory of those early submarine days. I was determined not to permit any other trainees to exceed my performance.
At the same time, I was fascinated as never before by the submarine force, including its proud history and the mandatory intimacy of all the members of the crew. Although some of the enlisted men could concentrate almost exclusively on their own fields of responsibility as enginemen, electricians, torpedo experts, boatswains, quartermasters, gunners, or operators of navigation or fire control equipment, every officer was expected to master all these disciplines. We knew that one mistake in judgment, a lack of knowledge, or an error in opening or closing a valve could endanger everyone onboard.
I was at submarine school in November 1948 and discovered that I was the only student there who planned to vote for Harry Truman. The other officers thought that he was too liberal on economic matters, gave inadequate attention to defense issues, and had no chance to win. His commitment to racial equality was never mentioned, but it may have been a factor. Rosalynn and I became tired of trying to defend his record in the mess hall or when we were with any of the other students in our private quarters, all of whom voted for Thomas Dewey. No one wanted to talk to
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