knew what was coming, he innocently asked 'The Question': 'How would you like a tour aboard a nuclear submarine?'
This invariably resulted in a backward movement as the woman stared at him wide-eyed, blinked several times, and finally asked, 'A nuclear submarine? Tonight? Are you serious? Are you in the Navy?'
He smiled and told her that he would be happy to give her a tour of his ship if she would find such a tour interesting. 'It is a beautiful submarine,' he said, with just the right smile and proper blend of innocence and enthusiasm. 'It is called the
The predictable result became an often-repeated routine. She smiled, having never heard such an offer from any man she had known back in Kansas City or wherever she was from, and her eyes lit up with the excitement of it all. Because the women of Waikiki rarely traveled alone, she usually asked if her girlfriend could come with her. 'Of course,' Marc said magnanimously, as he waved in my direction and beckoned for me to join them.
When the
After a knowing look or two and a polite salute to welcome the ladies on board, the watch greeted us and cleared the way for our late-night tour. A half hour later, after hearing the excited 'ooh's' and 'ah's' of our female companions, Marc and I felt like heroes for the rest of the night.
All the fun came to an end the morning the captain gathered us together on the pier in front of the
After we completed the morning muster on the pier, I climbed down the engine-room hatch and started studying the next system on the qualifications list. My work was abruptly interrupted by Chief Paul Mathews's voice bellowing throughout the boat over the loudspeaker system.
'All men lay topside to 'sally ship'!'
Puzzled, I looked up from by book. 'Do what to the ship?' I asked nobody in particular.
Bruce Rossi started climbing up the engine-room ladder to the topside deck. 'Sally ship, Dunham,' he barked in my direction. 'Important for the calculation of metacentric height of which the center of buoyancy is a part. Get up there.'
With Chief Mathews giving directions from his position in front of the submarine sail, about thirty of us lined up in a long row at the port side of the ship and crowded as close to the edge of the deck as possible. The chief looked at his wristwatch, waited a few seconds, and then hollered at the top of his lungs, 'Move to the starboard side!'
We promptly rushed across the deck to the opposite side of the
'Port side!'
We leaped to the port side.
'Starboard side!'
Feeling foolish, I moved with the rest of the men.
'Port!'
'Starboard!'
'Port!'
'Starboard!'
Scurrying back and forth, we paused for about six or seven seconds on each side before the next order. Gradually, I became aware of a rolling movement of the submarine's deck, like the movement of a rowboat with too much weight on one side, accompanied by the tilting of the periscopes sticking out of the sail. As we continued with the exercise, the rolling increased by larger and larger increments and some of the men had to grab the restraining cable at the deck's edge for balance. When the deck began to show a prominent sloping with each roll, the chief finally thanked us and ordered, 'Secure from 'sally ship' exercise.'
Remarkably, nobody said much of anything as the crew nonchalantly dispersed from the bizarre activity and returned to their various tasks. It wasn't clear to me how one should even ask Paul about the meaning of the event — 'Did the sally go well, Chief?' Pushing aside my typical feeling of nearly total ignorance, I wandered toward him.
'It relates to the center of buoyancy, Dunham,' Paul told me even before I asked. 'The rolling provides data for calculating the metacentric height, important for determining the stability of the
I stared at the man, my mind trying to comprehend such a disaster.
He smiled brightly. 'Therefore, it's the kind of thing we like to check out.'
I returned to my qualifications work with a new worry. It would enter my mind every time we surfaced, as I waited to see if that first wave to slam against the side of the submarine would cause considerable crew discomfort.
The next day, the pier alongside the
On board the submerged
I had just finished storing a pocketbook, a box of cigars, and four fresh oranges inside the bunk locker beneath my rack when Marc Birken walked up to the crew's berthing area.
'Aloha, bruddah,' he said to me, grinning widely and relishing his newly acquired Hawaiian dialect. 'What's happening?'
I pointed to the oranges. 'Fresh fruit for the long trip, in case we run out.'
He looked at my oranges. 'We're only going to be gone for a week or two,' he said.
'Or three, or four-'
'Two weeks, or even three weeks, that's nothing! Wait until we go out for two months or even longer. Did I ever tell you about the time I dropped a garbage weight when the
I closed my bunk locker and pulled the curtain across the opening of my tiny home. 'What's a garbage