They called us “ping jockeys.” I guess from the old WW2 submarine vs. destroyer movies. It sounded more like a marmot to me; that high pitched whistle that I often hear when hiking in the Olympics or Cascades, coming from those cute little relatives of the prairie dog. Sure, it sounded like a whistle from on board; but from under the water it must have been a head splitting, shrill scream. I remember pulling in to Cam Rhan Bay in late 1968; we were so shrewd, operating our sonar to keep the swimmer sappers away. The UDT’s from across the bay were not impressed. They didn’t appreciate our cleverness; the sound must have made them go cross-eyed. Anyway, at their urgency, we ceased our transmissions.
When I came on board in October of ’68 the ship had just returned from Long Beach. On transit, she had hit a whale and damaged the sonar dome, that bulbous part of the ship’s hull that housed the sonar transmitter/receiver. Upon repair the watch made hourly trips down into the dome through slender vertical passage accessed from the anchor windlass room up forward. The dome, normally flooded, was empty for inspections and the new seaman (that was me) had to make to dark, damp journey into the dome, 40 feet below.
I was very excited to be on board and wanted to help in any way I could. My enthusiasm was rewarded with a mission. “Go find some relative bearing grease.” “Where,” I asked? “Check with the boson’s mates; they might have some in the paint locker,” ST1 Stevens told me. Frank Speer told me that he had none but suggested I check with the enginemen. No luck there either, but I did get a good tip: check with the machinist mates. That is where I met Harry Shearer who roared his big, smiley laugh and it was then I realized how I had been duped. Harry became one of my best shipboard friends. Anyone know where he is now?
Standing watch in the dark, quiet confines of Sonar Control could make one sleepy, especially on the “mid-watch”. Sitting at the console looking at a faint curser sweeping an empty screen and beginning to nod off, Mr. Eney put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Anything out there, VanMeter?” One could always find a break in going to the mess decks for two cups of coffee, one for Chief McFaddin and one for “DL” (ST1 Burris); then, trying to carry them up 2 ladders, one in each, hand without spilling. A second trip was needed if you wanted one for yourself; and why not use the other hand to bring one for Carl Hotvedt from Wolfpoint, MT. During slow times you could always get a funny story from STG3 Lewis or a wealth of information about the Queen Mary from Ed Blust. One of the more interesting times of the watch was the long walk back to “after-steering” to launch the water temperature/depth sensor. I’ve forgotten its name.
Some 35 years later, after a 20 year career in retail and now a career in Elementary Education (second grade), I still recall those times and wish there was some way we could go back on board, man our watches and again, have those adventures. I’d like to walk on deck and look over the side at the phosphorus in the water or watch the dolphins swimming beside and talking to the sonar dome. It seems like only yesterday and I wish it could be tomorrow.
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