New York City
(line handlers on deck) “Cubera arriving”
The boat motoring into New York Harbor. This navy submarine enters the city's wharf area after passing Ellis Island. This was the second time by the Statue of Liberty, “the old girl herself,” isn't that right mom? I was standing lookout with a big lump, in my throat. The view was breathtaking in this early morning calm. It was good to be coming into a dock at the Brooklyn Navy Shipyard, especially after that big storm. Three days in this town and old enough to drink, “yahoo”. The crew was ready for liberty. I wanted to see Broadway and Fifth Avenue. That said, Benito was dressed in his regulation blues, my shoes were shined and my white hat was clean. This was not to easy a feat on a diesel boat. I strolled through Central Park and some of the other tourist sights. I was headed downtown to a place called “Dempsey's.” Anybody in uniform got a free drink on the house. The restaurant and bar was a museum of bare fist fighters. The full wall murals showing the famous and not so famous. The men battling in the ring. Jack Dempsey was the best of the best. He started fighting in the Colorado mining camps. Three deep to this bar, I finally got a stool. This sailor, being me ask the barkeeper to give me a VO Press. I said, that's Canadian VO' Bourbon and a twist of lemon adding seven up and club soda float on top of the ice. He said, I know what it is kid, let me see your ID, sailor? The bartender looked at it a long time, shrugged and then served me. I was really sweating bullets. I saw a picture of this particular mixed drink in a magazine. I wanted that special cocktail at Dempsey's Bar in New York on my birthday. I drank this cocktail way to quickly, but it was very good. I'll have another one please, this being my second legal drink. New York had an eighteen year old drinking age. This time it cost me three bucks! I slowed way down and sipped it very slowly. Since that was real expensive on my sailor's budget. I've been drinking them over forty years now. I do switch to Crown Royal now and then but still like the taste of VO' Bourbon. My wallet said, it was time to be on my way. I left "five bucks" on the bar and got up to go. I accidentally stepped back on this old man's toe. Oh! sorry sir, I didn't see you. He smiled and said, let me buy you one, son. His kind eyes told me, he was alright. Jack Dempsey waved the bartender over and said, Joe, this one is on me. The barman said “yes sir,” that's a VO Press, right? That's right, I sure do thank you, Mr. Dempsey, as he smiled again and disappeared into the crowd. “Kid Blackie” didn't look like his pictures on the wall. There was many years between then and now. These days many people didn't like servicemen. That said, Jack, the heavy weight champion of the world, wasn't one of them. The guys back on the boat didn't believe it, but so what, I did. The city was alive that night. I walked slowly down the boulevard, checking out all the sights. I took the subway to Brooklyn and walked back to the boat to save my bus fare. I had duty the next two days. Our submarine was still in port, that was no problem. I ran out of cash quickly in those days. What was the reason, the sub was here in New York? It must have been a secret, at least I didn't know why. The next port was the submarine base at New London. That meant two more days at sea. The sub cruised on the surface this time. Studying the pipe systems had me crawling through the interior of the boat. I was drawing outlines of valves and more pipes. I was getting signed off on this and that system. This kept me real busy on the boat. Yogi, my engine room chief was frustrated with me, because mechanical stuff wasn't my strong suit. Those diesel engines hated me. Fireman Alley, it was decided would be an electrician. That would be a little cleaner anyway. I had to turn in my bilge rat hat. The new guy, who got my old job probably loved engines starting with his first lawnmower. I knew every valve in the forward and aft engine rooms, well, that was a good thing. The one engine, the navy had removed was replaced by a secret device. The navy was trying out some new equipment. A master something.... maybe that's why we stopped in New York City. This was an interesting piece of gear. The “Silent Service” is just that. We can't talk about it...so be quiet. Well anyway, we tied up to the submarine docks in Groton. We were here for special training class. The whole crew has to re-qualify the Steinke hood. Steinke what? Its was a new underwater escape device. Submarine crew safety during the cold war era, required this training. I had just done this escape training stuff. That was only six months before... right? That was the wrong answer. This sailor, now had to wear a hood with a window in it. No more blowing bubbles. We all yell, ho ho ho! to the surface from the 50 foot level up. This hooded air pocket is connected to the vest. Hey funny, I might have finally broke my out of the water record. The human rocket launch, that's me. The thing is all of us knew unless you sank in the harbor. That no one was swimming to the surface and still survive. The mom's out there didn't need to know that. So here we go, ho ho ho! Up, up and away, the silent service right. Well somebody must have told a mom. The Navy retired the training tank a few years back. The boat stayed in New London for a month doing special operations. This new secret system was the master prairie bubblier surrounded the hull. The hope was to make us invisible to detection. That said, the other navy submarines would try and find us. Then shoot a torpedo at us, “real fun”. These boats were armed with dummy torpedoes but they still could dent your fender. A steam driven slug at twenty one feet long. That weighted over one thousand pounds running at you over forty miles an hour seemed a little excessive. I hoped this blower system really worked. We tried hard to evade these guys. I'm just saying, our boat never took a direct hit. The story was another boat came into port with a dummy torpedo stuck through the sail. It’ll keep you on your toes for sure. Almost fifty years later, I'm telling these stories. I hope the navy has better stuff out there these days. I retired a few pairs of shorts, testing that one. The day came and the Cubera went back to Norfolk. I was a real crew member now tested under fire, so the guys took me out one night. Bell's Bar on the strip, just outside the main gate of the navy base. This was a submariner's hangout. Surface guys need not enter, pig boats only. Standing at this bar was a time honored tradition, fried chicken gizzards and beer. This sailor being only eighteen years old in Virginia meant two percent beer. Sub sailors in here didn't follow many rules like that. The gizzards went down better after about the eighth beer. Smiling like, I had just drank a lot of Ruby Hill. The next day, my head couldn't fit down the hatch. Sub sailors from different boats, we're smiling at the kid from this old diesel boat. Truly fit in with the crew now. This sailor had his sails trimmed that night, just saying.
The main Norfolk Navy base had barracks for sub sailors with plenty of hot water showers and bunk beds too, life was good. The D&S docks was where the subs docked were more secure and had another outside gate down the other side of the strip. Tattoo parlors, uniform shops, pool halls and at least ten bars including Bells lined both sides of the street for two blocks. To get from the boat to the barracks meant crossing the red zone. That said, being a new electrician on board. I had stood the equalizer battery charge watch. I was checking specific gravity on both battery banks. This required, one guy, eighteen hours to do this job. It was important that the levels be checked on the hour. The boat was headed back out to sea, the very next day. I had to complete this charge. Yogi was the engine man running the power for this watch. The batteries reached full charge finally the charge was done at 12:39 am. I was beat just crawling on the top of these 120 battery cells . The battery wells with only had about two an a half foot of clearance. It made for a very long day. The problem was the shuttle wasn't running between the two navy bases after midnight. I decided to walk to the barracks. It was only a mile. That said, I put on my pea coat and my dress blue trousers and an a mostly clean white hat. I needed a shower and some sleep. I had to be in dress uniform outside the gates. I was halfway to the main gate in the red zone when the shore patrol stopped me. They were stopping sailors and checking uniform dress code. That may be a problem, this pig boat sailor was out of uniform. Seem they found under the pea coat, I was wearing a filthy dirty dungaree work shirt, that smelled real bad. The patty wagon was my new transport to the brig. The good news was I had my own holding cell anyway. They hadn't processed me yet and the chief in charge called for the pig boat sailor. What the hell? boy. Thank God, this guy was a sub sailor. He had dolphins on to prove it. Slowly I explained myself, holding back tears. The old chief said, who's the officer in charge tonight? The phone call was interesting. Shore Patrol and the chief escorted me back to the sub pier. The officer of the deck holding the ransom, it was two boxes of donuts and Richard's best pie. I was returned, the prisoner boarded the boat. The paperwork was lost and the next morning we were out to sea. I got restricted to the boat for two weeks. The exact same period, we were out. I told Richard, thanks for helping me out. He laughed out loud. Richard and I were almost qualified boat sailors by now. Ten months had passed on board this great boat and crew. That all changed on July of 67', my new orders came in. I was transfer to a fast attack nuclear submarine. The same damn boat, I had studied in school. I didn't want to go. Richard, my sea dad got his orders that day too. My sea dad went to another nuclear fast attack on that same day. The crew would really miss him. Richard after all was a damn good cook. The good news, we both were staying in Norfolk. The bad news, I was leaving this rag tag family that had my back. The other "Diesel Submarine" stories not written here will live with me forever. Sly Fox, a wild berry wine and Yogi another time & tale.
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