Silent and Unseen

by Alfred McLaren

  As a rule, submarine cooks took special pains to please their fellow crewmembers with the best available from onboard and onshore food larders. Steaks, roasts, and lobsters were always in abundance, as were fresh vegetables, fruit, and fresh-baked breads and pastries of various sorts. Depending on the day, we all viewed lunch or brunch as the last best chance to get a good, solid meal under our belts before heading off for a liberty on shore where a lot more drinking than eating would be done.

  Greenfish’s cooks and mess handlers (food servers) were a dependable lot, and our messes—both officers and crews—often received the Ney nomination from our superiors for Best Mess Afloat. We trusted them to ensure that we would always be fed well and that all loaded foodstuffs would be of the highest quality and safe to eat. Cleanliness of the galley and mess hall spaces was generally excellent, in spite of the occasional cockroach infestation, and great care was taken to maintain a high level of cleanliness. Suffice it to say that a deployed submarine could not afford to have even one of its crewmembers take sick for any reason. Any form of food poisoning, for instance, could have disastrous consequences for the entire crew. Thus sanitation and cleaning gear, disinfectants, and detergent were always in evidence. Detergent along with containers of cooking oil enjoyed a prominent position on the shelf just above the galley grill. A walk through the galleys of each submarine in the nest at Yokosuka would have revealed almost identical side-by-side stowage of detergent and cooking oil above the grills. Somewhat similar in shape, each container was clearly labeled, and to the best of anyone’s memory there had never been a problem.

  One peaceful Sunday morning in Yokosuka, as Greenfish was moored outboard and crew and officers were quietly enjoying a savory brunch of steak and eggs, we suddenly heard a tremendous commotion topside—shrill voices normally associated with an infuriated mob, yet we were moored within the confines of a large, well-secured base. What on earth was going on?, we asked ourselves as we gazed at each other in amazement. The topside watch excitedly called over Greenfish’s 1MC system, “Duty officer topside! Duty officer topside!” Expecting the worst, both the wardroom and crews mess rushed aft and up through the after-battery compartment hatch to the main deck.

  Milling around on the gangway and topside was a clutch of shouting and obviously angry men from USS C—, alongside which we were moored. Cowering behind our topside watch, who had a firm hand on his sidearm holster, was a somewhat older sailor dressed in a soiled white uniform. He was unshaven and slovenly looking, and from his appearance it was easy to conclude that he had just returned from a night of heavy drinking.

  Confronting our duty officer was an incoherent commanding officer from our sister submarine. On seeing him, the older sailor fell to the deck, wrapped his arms around the ankles of our duty officer, and began pleading for asylum, while his commanding officer and fellow crewmembers demanded he be returned on board ship. This particular skipper had a reputation for volatility and severity when sufficiently provoked. It was not hard to imagine what the man could expect in the way of rough justice if he were returned. Four Greenfish officers and several of our senior chief petty officers managed to ease themselves into position between the refugee and the mob and gradually calm things down.

  Hearing all the commotion, groups gathered on the decks of the other two submarines in the nest. The commanding officer of one of them rushed over to Greenfish and with soothing words put his arm around his brother skipper and asked him what was going on. None of us had, as yet, even the slightest clue as to the reason for this quite menacing scene.

  C—’s commanding officer, at this point only slightly more coherent, began pointing at the fugitive, repeating, “The cook, the cook!” The pursued individual tried to escape below decks but ran into the arms of one of our largest torpedomen who forcibly restrained him and brought him back up. No one was going to be allowed to go below decks on our submarine until we had determined what had triggered the ugly scene.

  It seemed that C—’s officers and crew had just seated themselves to enjoy a sumptuous brunch as piles of sizzling steaks were being delivered to both their wardroom and crews mess. The captain forked one onto his plate, cut off a large juicy piece, and joyfully popped it into his mouth, as did the others. All of a sudden the wardroom and crews mess erupted into a chaos of swearing, spitting, gagging, and general retching. How could a favorite food that looked so delicious taste like a mixture of soap and bilge?

  The first to reach the galley confirmed that their still-inebriated cook was happily cooking the morning’s steaks with detergent. The acrid smell and smoke alone should have tipped him off as it began to spread through the boat, but he was too drunk to notice. Miraculously, at the approach of angry crewmembers braced to grab him, the cook found his feet, dropped everything, and ran for it. Bolting out the forward battery compartment hatch, he high-tailed it across the connecting gangway to our boat. “Permission to go below! Permission to go below!,” he screamed frantically to our startled topside watch as he dashed on board with his shipmates close on his heels.

  In the meantime, someone on shore hearing all the commotion called the base duty officer. He arrived with members of the shore patrol to join the teeming throng topside. It was generally agreed that the shore patrol should take the errant cook into custody and depart as soon as possible, which they did. Since he really couldn’t be charged with anything more serious than cooking a vile meal, he was ultimately deposited for safe keeping in a nearby transient barracks until it was decided what to do with him. Fortunately for all, the cook was allowed to disappear, never to be seen or heard from again.

  Was there a submarine force–wide directive aimed at preventing such a thing from ever happening again? No. This was probably because the powers that be did not want to admit that it had ever occurred in the first place.

  CHAPTER 6

  Homeward to Pearl Harbor

  A new navigator, a lieutenant, arrived during our final week in Yokosuka in late October 1958, and our old navigator, Lieutenant D, left us to join his wife in Hong Kong before going on to his new duty station. In the meantime our new navigator, Lt. Arthur M, a confirmed bachelor, made quite a name for himself on shore. He was termed a “butterfly boy” by the women because of his fickleness in choosing his evening companions. He was also termed by these same companions a “base sailor,” because of his seeming lack of money when it came time to pay for the drinks. The women were always quick to discern who was a sailor or an officer, and who was fresh from sea with money to spend or a base sailor, stationed on shore in Yokosuka. Lieutenant M’s reputation became the subject of much amusement during the following weeks at sea.

  Greenfish departed Yokosuka for a lengthy transit home that would take us north of the Hawaiian Island chain. It was well into November and the weather was rough all the way. Since there was no need to remain undetected or to run submerged, other than for daily training and crew qualification operations, we remained on the surface a good deal of the time. The weather was so bad that our new navigator was almost continually seasick. Not an auspicious start for a prospective exec. As a consequence, the three of us junior officers who were working hard to complete our submarine qualification were each assigned a portion of the voyage home to complete our required navigation practical factors. It was a priceless opportunity, because we were each in effect navigator for three full days, under the nominal supervision of the exec and the chief quartermaster. Taking morning and evening star sights in heavy rolling seas from the northwest proved to be quite a challenge, but we each mastered it in turn and were able to fix the boat’s position within at least five miles. Greenfish reached the approach to the Pearl Harbor Channel without incident.

  Once back in Hawaii, Greenfish went into an extended upkeep of all areas and equipment of the boat, including complete repainting both inside and out. Our liberty period was to last until well into January 1959. The boat had been run hard, and both submarine and crew showed its effects. We all needed a good lo
ng rest.

  When we finally returned to sea in January 1959, it was only to render ASW services, as target submarine, for U.S. Navy ASW surface forces and aircraft. The pace was not arduous. We always got under way on Monday mornings and returned to port in time for Thursday night bowling. A considerable portion of operating time was devoted during the remainder of winter and all of spring to submarine-versus-submarine operations, both to hone our skills for the next Cold War mission and to devote the requisite amount of time to help those of her officers and crew to complete their submarine qualification.

  R to L: Lt. Cdr. John A. Davis, commanding officer, USS Greenfish (SS 351); Lt. (jg) Alfred S. McLaren; supply and commissary officer CSC (SS) Valdo J. Alderson, and Supply and Commissary Department, 1958. Courtesy of Patrol

  The Cumshaw Artist

  By February 1959 I had been Greenfish’s first lieutenant for over a year and her gunnery and torpedo officer for close to nine months. In early February I was directed to turn over these duties to Lieutenant (jg) S and to relieve him as Greenfish’s supply and commissary officer. The duty of supply and commissary officer was dreaded by all young submarine officers, not only because of the former role’s complexity in ensuring that one’s submarine had all required spare parts and stores on board, but also because the latter played a significant part in the overall morale of the crew. As an old submarine saying goes, “Food quality is 95 percent of a boat’s morale.”

  Greenfish had a superb chief commissaryman, Valdo J. Alderson. He was a World War II submarine war patrol veteran with a reputation for feeding the crew extremely well on every boat he had served on board. He was also well known for his shrewdness as a trader and cumshaw artist for the overall benefit of his particular boat.1 He was also well liked on and off the waterfront and had a great number of friends, including many submarine war patrol veterans and skippers, senior active duty submarine officers, and a few retired admirals.

  Chief Alderson saw to it that on Greenfish we were plentifully supplied with tenderloin steaks, lobsters, smoked fish, and even frog legs, all the while remaining within our monthly ration allowance. How he accomplished this, I was never able to determine for sure. However, I did surmise that he had access to a large quantity of surplus butter, which he was able to trade, along with tins of coffee beans, for almost any food we wanted or thought we needed, particularly for ship’s parties and picnics. If the submarine base commissary suppliers were offering a new type of “Horse Cock” (processed meat like salami, baloney, etc.) or filet mignon (ordinarily for the ComSubPac admiral’s mess), he was able to get it. He even obtained and cooked a beautiful Smithfield ham for us one night at sea.

  During the four months I had the pleasure of working with him, Chief Alderson led us to a Ney nomination for the Best Mess Afloat. In that time he also became a kind and loyal personal friend, and made a concerted effort to introduce me to former shipmates, both officer and enlisted, with whom he had served during World War II. He even made sure I had an opportunity to meet Vice Adm. Ralph W. Christie, who commanded submarine operations out of the Australian ports of Brisbane and Fremantle during that war. These former shipmates were a colorful bunch with a crusty sense of humor. To them, Valdo was known as No Ass—not because of his physique, but because of his singular lack of success with Australian women during World War II. We could listen to these war veterans for hours and learn from their endless sea stories, many of them about difficult war patrols.

  The lessons I learned from Chief Alderson and his former shipmates were to stand me in good stead when I became a commanding officer more than ten years later. One of the most important was to treat everyone with respect, no matter how junior or senior, armed forces or civilian, in all dealings on board and on shore. Through them I learned, too, that a person’s demeanor and personal conduct, both on shore and afloat, during stressful situations, was critical in retaining the full confidence and support of shipmates and colleagues.

  USS Greenfish (SS 351) mess compartment during a meal, 1959. J. Kyser

  Chasing the Missing Chapter

  Three officers on Greenfish were in the homestretch toward gaining their Gold Dolphins: Lieutenant J, Lieutenant (jg) S, and me. We were all three U.S. Naval Academy graduates—1954, 1956, and 1955, respectively—and by coincidence had all been in the same company at the Academy.

  I was the first of the three of us to complete my Submarine Qualification Notebook, which covered each system—air, ventilation, water, hydraulic, electric, and so on—throughout Greenfish, with an attendant list of practical factors that had to be completed to a qualifying officer’s satisfaction. The notebook also covered all submarine evolutions, operations, and emergency procedures, both surfaced and submerged, in port and under way.

  I had only a few operational practical factors to complete before I was technically eligible to go up for final qualification in submarines. Most of these involved making successful torpedo attacks on a variety of targets, unescorted and escorted, by one or more ASW ships, and had to be signed off by the captain. Since Lieutenant J was a year senior to me and had been on board longer, I was made to wait until he had finished all aspects of his submarine qualification, including underway examination by another submarine captain on a different boat. This was quite disheartening, because I had been working hard to finish up within a year of first reporting on board. In the meantime, I submitted my completed Submarine Qualification Notebook in January 1959 to the new exec, Lt. Cdr. Robert H. Koehler, for his review and approval, which I received; I then forwarded the notebook to the captain for his final OK.

  Captain Davis took the notebook in early February and placed it in one of his stateroom lockers. There it remained without comment until mid-May, becoming for me a growing source of frustration and, at times, anger and discouragement.

  The days and weeks dragged by as I waited impatiently to go up for formal qualification in submarines. Much of this time was spent in port, which made the time grind even more slowly. In addition, Captain Davis was seldom around during these periods, so there weren’t many opportunities for me to discuss with him how long I was to remain in what was becoming a general morale purgatory for me.

  Suddenly in early March 1959 without prior warning, Lieutenant J, the officer whose completion of submarine qualification I had to wait for, completed his qualification notebook, went out almost immediately for his underway examination by another submarine skipper, passed that, received the squadron commander’s blessing, and within the space of a week was presented his Gold Dolphins in front of Greenfish’s entire crew at morning quarters. The captain, who had always seemed partial to this individual, then threw a qualification party at his home, and all officers not on watch and their spouses were required to attend. That evening, I finally began to feel that there might just be some light at the end of the tunnel.

  A week or so later, this same officer received orders to report later in the month to Washington, DC, to be interviewed by Rear Adm. Hyman G. Rickover and his staff for the newly established six-month-long Advanced Nuclear Power School, at the submarine base in Groton, Connecticut. He apparently passed with flying colors and was slated to be detached in time to attend the school’s second class convening the forthcoming July.

  On Greenfish we had heard we were scheduled to deploy in the early summer on a special operation. So although Captain Davis was sorry to lose Lieutenant J, he felt he could live with it, and life continued as before on normal, four-day local operations for ASW services, submarine-versus-submarine training, followed by generous amounts of time in port. Lieutenant J was subsequently granted time off and lengthy leave periods, and we didn’t see much of him from April on.

  Then something completely unexpected happened that was to infuriate Greenfish’s skipper. In mid-April I received dispatch orders from the U.S. Navy Bureau of Personnel to report to Washington, DC, within four days, to be interviewed by Rickover for admission to the Advanced Nuclear Power School. This was in spite of the fact that
I had not yet completed formal qualification in submarines. Thinking perhaps that some skullduggery or string-pulling was involved, Captain Davis had a fit. He made efforts to get my orders cancelled, but they stood as issued. I, of course, was in a state of shock, because everyone else who had been called back from Pacific Fleet submarines had had several weeks to prepare, as best he could, for the interview. The only thing I could think to do was to read a recently published book entitled The Atomic Submarine and Admiral Rickover.2 I also picked out a textbook on nuclear physics that seemed to be more clearly written than most, and when I wasn’t reading the former, I was studying the latter.

  I passed the interview and returned to a less-than-happy Captain Davis, who could not bring himself to extend his congratulations.3 Greenfish would now be deploying without two of her most experienced officers. Captain Davis was, among other things, indignant because he had not yet recommended me for submarine qualification. This, of course, was in no way my fault, and I reminded both the exec and the captain that I had been ready for months. Adding more fuel to the flame was the fact that Captain Davis almost immediately began receiving pressure from superior officers to “Get McLaren qualified ASAP!” At that time, it was considered a great honor to be selected for nuclear submarines, and the ratio of officers selected to those not selected averaged about one in ten, which was probably based on the actual number of nuclear submarines that required manning at the time.4

  I was to feel Captain Davis’ wrath over the next several months. A number of important at-sea practical factors that only the captain could sign off on had to be completed before I could be sent for an in-port and underway examination by another submarine commanding officer and then proposed to our squadron commander for final submarine qualification. Even though I had completed all related practical factors, such as the required number of underways and landings as officer of the deck and torpedo approaches and attacks as approach officer, the captain had to recheck these as he felt necessary before giving his final OK.