Edward Beach - Around the World Submerged

1900 There is a rather lively discussion in the wardroom over the suggestion that there has been a let-down in general morale during the past several days. Various reasons are advanced to explain this phenomenon, which all agree is present. A most obvious explanation: we have finished our trip. We have gone around the world submerged, but we still have a long way to go before we get home. Morale had been fairly well sustained all the way to St. Peter and St. Paul’s Rocks, which had been our goal. But though our goal was achieved, it was not the end of the line. There were still 6,000 miles to go. Furthermore, we didn’t get nearly as much mail at Rota as we had hoped, and many have heard nothing at all from their families. Finally, especially as pertains to the officers, the paper-work problem related to the voyage report, preparation of work items for “post-shakedown overhaul,” and necessary revision to ship’s procedures resulting from our voyage, has been extremely heavy. It has been a tough trip; the keyed-up attitude with which everyone went into it has, after some 80 days, worn a little thin.

As Jim Hay and George Troffer point out, however, Triton ’s crew is a highly trained, extraordinarily well-motivated outfit. What we are calling “a low state of morale” would, in most places, be considered a very high state indeed. We really have no right to complain. There is no doubt that we have noticed a drop, but maybe it was inevitable, just a return to normal levels.

At about this time, the conversation turned to some of the privileges which we have not been able to enjoy of recent date. “Here it is dinnertime. How I wish I had a martini right now!” someone mumbles.

This was the cue I had been trying for some minutes to plant somewhere. A surreptitious signal to Green brought him back with a tray containing a dozen deliciously frosted sherbert glasses, each one brimming with a clear liquid in which was submerged a green olive impaled on a toothpick. The effect was magical. We could almost smell the tantalizing odor of vermouth. The illusion lasted until somebody finally could stand it no more—and drank his ice water.

Morale in the wardroom, which had previously hit a new high, touched a new low. Psychology being what it is, I was not sure, afterward, that my little joke had quite accomplished its objective.

2300 A message arrives from ComSubLant which ought to change all this talk about low morale. He announces that upon arrival in New London, Triton is to receive the Presidential Unit Citation from the Secretary of the Navy, who will apparently be there in person to present it. Furthermore, although the message itself is received in a highly classified manner, I am specifically authorized to publish the news to the entire crew.

With great pleasure we stop the presses, tear up the front page of the Triton Eagle and write a new one, quoting this section of the dispatch in full.

It does, indeed, have the desired effect.

Sunday, 8 May 1960 This is our last Sunday under way on this cruise and, speaking from experience, the last Sunday this crew will be together as a unit. As soon as we arrive in port there will be a number of transfers, some retirements, and of course the inevitable influx of new men. It is ever thus in the Navy and not something that we can really complain about, except to note with regret the dispersion of a fine crew at its highest state of training.

The only man I know who never had to contend with changes in his ship’s company was Captain Nemo of Jules Verne’s fictional Nautilus. Nemo, having isolated himself from mankind, cruised the seas indefinitely with a crew of similar misogynists. But even he was defeated at the end as, one by one, he buried the members of his crew until finally he alone was left.

Today it is my turn again to lead the services of our little Protestant Sunday meetings. It is a good opportunity to deliver some thoughts on homecoming and to point out that although we may have all sorts of preconceived ideas about this, so will the folks at home; for families too have suffered privation while we have been away. We have had the adventure; they the drudgery. We have had change, and the challenge of new things; they the challenge of the same old thing day after day, without ourselves to help.

I also make an effort to point out some obvious dangers. The chance of slowed reaction while driving a car, for instance, or the probability that strong drink will have a much greater and more immediate effect than before. Some medical opinion holds that, having remained cooped up in close quarters for such a long period, our eyes will now find difficulty in shifting from short distances to long distances; thus, for a few hours, there may be greater danger in driving than ever before.

There are one or two other things I should also mention at this stage: Torpedoman Second Class Jones has on numerous occasions drawn the assignment of running the wardroom movies [this is rotated among various movie operators who alternate between showing movies for the crew in the crew’s mess hall and for the wardroom. Normally, there are two movies shown each day for the crew and one for the wardroom]. Something of a comic, Jones usually takes a good-natured ribbing as he sets up for us, and has given back as good as he gets. Some time ago, however, after a particularly contrived and illogical movie, I dressed him down severely and decreed that if the next movie was no better, I was going to demote him a grade.

After this, poor Jones had very little luck. Try as he might to tout his movies all were graded “poor,” and he successively descended in rating until finally he had been reduced to seaman recruit, as far down the ladder as he could go. At this point, Jones thought he could go no lower and had me whipped, but I held despotic power in our little world and made the rules myself and Jones continued to progress in a negative direction. As of now, he holds the rate of Negative Chief Torpedoman on board this ship, and it has been so announced in “The Skipper’s Corner.” The crew insists that when we get home he will have to walk down the gangway standing on his hands, wearing a Chiefs hat backwards. Others claim he should pay the Navy for the privilege of being in it.

Now that the cruise is nearing the end, however, my duty has become clear and I must perform it. Jones is today promoted back all the way to his original rating of Torpedoman Second. This amounts to a jump of 11 grades, unprecedented in all naval records.

If there has been a sag in morale, it is no longer evident; everybody is cheerful, now that Jones is back in good graces again. Besides, there are only 2 more days to go.

Monday, 9 May 1960 We are rapidly approaching the Delaware Capes, where we are scheduled to rendezvous with helicopters and a weather boat tomorrow morning shortly after daybreak.

Sometime tomorrow we will hold a short ceremony during which 6 of our crew will be awarded the coveted silver dolphins, signifying that they have “qualified in submarines.” They certainly have been putting in the extra hours and have gained on this account a great amount of approbation among their shipmates. Qualification in submarines is never an easy task, and we do not intend that it shall ever be. The prospective new dolphin wearers are:

WILLIAM A. MCKAMEY, JR., Seaman

FRED KENST, Seaman

JAMES H. SMITH, JR., Seaman

MAX L. ROSE, Seaman

LAWRENCE W. BECKHAUS, Sonarman First Class

WILLIAM R. HADLEY, Chief Communications Technician

We had thought of doing this at quarters, upon arrival in New London, but gave up the idea because there will be too many other things to occupy us.

As Triton enters Thames River, enroute to her berth in New London, we shall man the rail in traditional Navy style. That is, the members of the crew topside will be dressed in the uniform of the day and will form a solid line from bow to stern, thus creating, we hope, a sharp and military appearance. We are proud of our ship and want her to look her best, despite the scars from her three months contest with the elements.