The Day I Met God

The day I Met God

I received orders to the USS San Francisco SSN 711 in August 1980. My orders had me going to 'PreComUnit' or duty on a ship under construction. My new ship was being built at the Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company (NNSDC) in Hampton Roads Virginia and it was going to be the 23rd ship in its class. The lucky 711 was a "Los Angeles" or "688 class "submarine, Los Angeles being the name of the first in the class with hull number 688. However, it was the first ship in the tier two design which meant it was coming with a host of major improvements and alterations learned from the other older ships in the same class. The 688-class submarine 's primary mission is to hunt enemy submarines as an integral part of fast-moving battel group and is referred to as a "fast attack". Once the ship completed sea trials and commissioning it was to leave the east coast and head to the west coast eventually being home ported in Pearl Harbor Hawaii.

The ship had a scheduled departure date in February for "alpha" trials which were going to be the ship's initial underway which among numerous other events included a flank bell run and a deep dive. Commander Marshall was the commanding officer, but the focus of the story will be on two individuals, our Executive Officer (XO) and a larger-than-life person who will come later into story that I will often refer to as God. The XO was Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) Mark Keef, and he was a big man built like a wrestler. In the days before the first got underway he would spend a lot of time walking around the ship doing what XOs do, talking to the crew, telling sea stories, and trying hard to bring out the best in us. He was brash, loud, intelligent, and radiated confidence, and to us the crew it was all for which we could hope.

Working in a shipyard was unique and interesting experience for me but something that was disliked by the majority of the crew. I learned quickly that working in a shipyard was fraught with danger; new construction is loud and dirty, and cohabited with low IQ workers who had little patience with the crew. The ship had a temporary office that was on the second deck of Building 1, located at the Intersection of 35^th street and West Ave that had been built in 1944. Building one used to be corporate office of NNSDC but was vacated when a modern office was constructed. After going up a grand marble staircase that had been battered over the years you reached the ships very modest and uncomfortable crew space where we would muster for quarters, hold training, and try to stay out of the way of the yard employees. Most of the area on the second floor was used by the shipyard for storage area; the second deck had no temperature control, so it was either hot or cold and rarely comfortable. Always present was a sometimes-choking white dust that was everywhere kicked up every time a folk lift roared past you. The shipyard tried to control the dust by hanging thick translucent plastic with cut open vertical strips in more trafficked passageways; a barrier that a small truck could run through that could also contain the dust. But the barriers could only do so much and so it became a daily occurrence of wiping down dirt that was everywhere. I noticed there was friction between the navy (at my level) and the shipyard on the day I arrived and did not get any better over time.

History tells us that there indeed individuals who lived long enough to change the world and Admiral Hyman Rickover was certainly one of them, however today I doubt fewer than one in a thousand Americans would know anything about him. Soon after the end of the Second World War, he was considered one of the foremost experts in both mechanical and electrical engineering and was one of the first to suggest the use of atoms instead of fossil fuel to generate propulsion on naval ships. In 1946 there was nobody in the Navy that had any idea of how to do that and many thought it a fool's errand to put the deadly atom on a warship already fraught with danger. So, the navy gave the job of figuring out the feasibility of producing steam using nuclear power to "then" Captain Rickover. However, not done with that he next conceptualized a plan to put such fledgling technology on a submarine. Until then submarines Achilles heel was having to surface to charge batteries, which meant they had to run noisy diesel engines that required a lot of oxygen; a submarine running its engines on the surface has lost all of its stealth and thus making them extremely vulnerable to attack. Nuclear power would eliminate the need to go anywhere near the surface and give submarines untold advantage over any surface ship. In a little more than five years admiral Rickover made the concept of nuclear power on a submarine a very safe reality when the USS Nautilus went to sea in 1952.

The Navy had originated the "Men in Black" (MIB's) long before the Hollywood movie came out. The navy's version were from the bureau of Naval Reactors (NR) established by Admiral Rickover in 1949. They dressed the same, were without personalities or humor; they were like NASA engineers long before there was a space program. A captain of a nuclear-powered submarine's highest priority is the safe operation of his reactor plant, it is paramount, and all other concerns of his command are dwarfed by it. Any single adverse incident displaying reactor safety is reported immediately to the ships squadron commander. If he suspects issues, he could report this to NR which might result in a NR visiting which in turn be unbelievably bad for the ship. NR is an organization that "radiates" their involvement would be painful but result in improvement and is what they exist for. We should all respect them; their mission was and still is to prevent reactor accidents, and as of now there has never been one.

Hymen Rickover started out as a plebe at the Naval Academy during President Woodrow Wilson's administration; by 1981 he was now a 4-star admiral and the only director that NR ever had. For over 30 years Rickover was one of the most powerful men in the department of defense. He ran the bureau of Naval Reactors with complete unhindered authority. Because he had ultimate power over anything that was nuclear in the navy and having cultivated powerful friends in congress he was allowed to remain on active-duty way past his normal retirement age; he had built himself a kingdom of sorts that most his peers avoided at all costs. In other words, if you were in the world of naval nuclear power, he was God.

Rickover had relationship issues with about everyone during his career. He despised most of his fellow admirals, the school he was a graduate of and some politicians who often interrogated him over his policies; anyone who got in his way was to expect his temper as well as his wrath. He and the MIB's designed the reactor plant as well as the entire engineering space on the 688-class submarine. This rankled a lot of powerful folks over at Supervisor of Shipbuilding or SUPSHIP, who now only had cognizance over the design of the forward part of this class submarine. Rickover had the personality of a rattlesnake and fought with every Chief of Naval Operations that came and went for 36 years. His reputation more than likely contributed to the Bureau of Naval Reactors being relocated from the Washington Naval Shipyard, and now labored in rented office spaces finally ending up in Crystal City, a stop on the DC Metro system. The men who he hired, these "Men in Black" had wonderful minds that could perform calculus in their heads and who could quote verbatim any section of the manuals that they wrote which decreed how the reactor plant was to be operated. Rickover had groomed these men and like him were resolute in ensuring nuclear power safety and perfection.

In the build up to alpha trials the gouge from the engine room was that Rickover and his boys were going on alpha trials with us so they could see firsthand how safely the reactor was being operated. Up to this point I had never heard of the bureau of Naval Reactors and how important they were. At quarters one day the non-engineering members of the ships company were reminded that if at any time NR were around, we were to avoid having any contact with them, always referring them to the duty officer. We were warned that they would come onboard unexpectedly at any time to inspect the engineering spaces, always looking for discrepancies. Anyways, I was sure I would have nothing to do with the MIB's and that the command was overreacting doing everything to elevate the stress level that was already barely tolerable.

About a month before our first underway the crew moved out of the barracks and onboard the ship and started standing normal in port watches while still i n the shipyard. The pace doubled as we practiced every evolution that a submarine needed proficiency in no matter how basic it was. Being very junior member of the duty section, I started standing topside watches and hopefully ensured only authorized personnel were allowed access to the ship. That watch stood near the brow and closed to the forward escape trunk hatch, the main access to and from the ship. Then late one very chilly night after most of the crew evening, after participating in a fire drill I relieved the topside watch and settled in for a four-hour watch. The shipyard was deserted all yard birds had long gone home when I noticed two spooky dudes walking down the wharf heading my way. As they got closer, I was positive who they were and called the below deck watch and asked him to wake the duty officer and report "there here." I kept the phone to my ear trying to look busy as they started up the brow; my plan was to delay them until an officer came topside. I was flummoxed by what to do next, let the Bureau onboard or make them wait for the duty officer. Standing in front of me there was no doubt who they were, and I now had eyes on the "men in black." Mr. Smith and Jones presented their identification to me, and I took longer than usual to locate the list they were on and could not delay them any longer, so I cheerfully welcomed them on board without any similar retort. Curiously, they proceeded down the engine room hatch which is not the normal entrance point on any submarine. A few minutes later the duty officer finally made it topside looking very agitated and all I had to do was point aft and off he went trying anxiously to get in front of the "bureau" and prevent potential damage control. All the stories I had heard about them now seemed true, they were creepy, and their presence affected normally rational offers in strange ways.

During the weeks before the initial reactor plant startup the Bureau of Naval Reactors were all over the engineering spaces; sniffing out any discrepancies that were occurring or about to happen and correct it accordingly. Any major violation of reactor plant safety during startup would require a complete shutdown and cause a serious delay in the schedule. If this happened, it would have significant consequences for the commanding officer as well as the entire crew. Likely it would mean a two-week delay in alpha trials while the ships engineering department went through remedial training, more drills, lectures, and procedural walk throughs. Thankfully, the engineering department did an excellent job in starting the reactor plant up with zero glitches and Rickover gave the USS San Francisco his blessing to proceed with alpha trials.

Then 10 February 1981 came and at 0800 all departments had reported ready to get under way for the first time. Already, in total there were an additional thirty-four riders from the shipyard and squadron stuffed onboard taking up space in the mess decks as usual; Rickover's "team" of six would make 160 souls onboard a submarine designed for 120 men. We had no weapons onboard, so the torpedo room became a makeshift berthing compartment with twenty-five portable racks lined up neatly, athwartship. I had no idea why we even bothered with this because even the deepest of sleepers was not going to get the chance to use them. Of course, we were fashionable late waiting for our celebrity rider and his inner circle to arrive. Once onboard they were all shuffled down to the wardroom, and we singled up all lines and we were finally underway on nuclear power, followed ominously by a rescue ship.

Lcdr Keef had the hardest job of all during alpha trials, not only was he the ships XO, but he was also the trials director as well as being Rickover's personal bodyguard. As trials director he would coordinate every test that the ship would conduct that was directed by a rather lengthy list of events that were to be performed in the next 20 hours. Keef would make effective use of the ships 1MC announcing system coordinating events in no particular order some events were all hands, but others were local and required only select individuals. Event 01 might be open then close torpedo tubes at various depths or raise and lower the periscopes at 150 feet, all these events were recorded properly with discrepancies duly noted. The crew had practiced for over 3 weeks where each and every one of us had to be for each event. My assignment was simple enough and required me to be in various places, manning the JA phones (sound powered and basic circuit used on naval ships) reporting the status of each event when directed.

A major concern to the command and entrusted to the executive officer was ensuring that Rickover was always separated from the crew. It had been reported from past sea trials that he sometimes would mosey around unscripted, searching for some very unlucky member of the crew so he could rattle him by asking improbable questions then tripping off the line when he did not get the answer he wanted. Young sailors are always a challenge to control, they can be an unpredictable source of sarcasm when faced with unknown etiquette. The XO was fully aware of this, and shadowed Rickover were ever he went, always making sure he arrived wherever he wanted to go without issues. We were told to look away and not make eye contact if suddenly Rickover and his troupe went by.

Alpha trial was a truly short underway to quickly evaluate the ships' ability to operate submerge, run as much of the ships major equipment at maximum loads and ends with an attempt to break the ships propulsion system by attempting a flank bell while stressing the propulsion system to its design limit. I say break because at this point the navy did not own the ship, and the builder still had contractual obligation to fix all discrepancies that were discovered. God had a dim view of ship builders cultivated over 30 years of disputes over quality of their building practices. The thought process was if the ship was going to breakdown in some way, it was better if happened on alpha trials close to home with a rescue ship standing by. If anything occurred to prohibit propulsion the ship would have to get a very embarrassing tow back to the shipyard where the builder would incur all costs of repair and not the taxpayers.

In reality fast attack submarines very rarely operate at a flank bell. Every submarine that accelerates to a flank bell just significantly increased their sound output, often needlessly, compromising its warfare advantage and contradicting its mantra of the "Silent Service." Going to flank requires additional maintenance during the next upkeep that would not be necessary if the ship kept it at or below a full bell. However, the Navy needed to know that this submarine could, if the time came, achieve its maximum designed speed.

The alpha trial event listing started immediately after getting underway. Very few events did not require all hands involvement and if you were lucky, you might be able to relax somewhere out of sight. Soon we had arrived at our assigned operations area about fifty miles east of Norfolk and submerged for the first time to periscope depth, and the fun was just getting started. I was correct in assuming that I would be on my feet the entire time we were underway; emanating from the mess decks as usual was usual cynicism with catch the phrase "don't worry if we make it back you can sleep then. And so, the next 12 hours went by hectically, you either participated in an event or were getting ready for the next one. If that was not fun enough for us then there were always long lines waiting to eat, long lines to use the head or yard birds that you had never before met standing in your way, this was fun at its core.

I was soon back on watch in the control room enjoying a peaceful break in the action. It was now four o'clock in the morning and 20 hours into the trial; there was a quiet lull in the control room, too good to be true. Next the crew was told to take station for the main event that some were calling "showtime." It was time for the infamous "crash back" and in control the order was given to proceed to 750 feet at all ahead full. In the meantime, Admiral Rickover had started to head aft chaperoned as always by the XO. Going aft from the wardroom required passing through the mess decks where normally there will be a gaggle of mess cooks cleaning the deck and supervised by a large cook in the passageway blocking traffic. This is the reason that the XO spearheads the way by making sure that anyone that is disgusting is out of sight before the MIB's passes by.

Everyone up forward felt the two main coolant pumps being placed in high-speed mode that is necessary in achieving flank speed. Once settled in the maneuvering space, standing directly behind the ships enlisted throttleman, Rickover would order a flank bell. It takes about sixty seconds to go from ahead full to ahead flank. In the control room all eyes were on the inertial navigation system digital readout of speed over ground. We were all hoping that because we were the first tier two ship that the modification in the engine room would render a speed record. I was not there but sure that everyone in the engine room was bracing themselves, waiting for the speed report that was soon to come from the control room. Soon came all the loud congratulations and shouting when the ship reached and sustained 36.4 knots, a full two knots faster than all other ships in the same class which was duly reported to Admiral Rickover. Then came the order for all back two thirds; a rarity that only happens during alpha trials. It is strange to say not really knowing but I am sure God wanted something bad to happen to his beloved propulsion plant just so he could say "I told ya so" and that his constant accusations of inferior workmanship were now justified. What happened next is a once in a lifetime experience for most of us. What was occurring was the equivalence of jamming an automobile into reverse at 40 miles an hour. The absolutely astounding power of the reactor plant was about to be displayed. A submarine going at a flank bell is a sublime experience that is impossible to forget. Only at a flank bell will you feel as well as hear the power of the propeller pushing millions of tons of sea water out of the way. The noise caused by the rushing of the sea across the hull is distinct as well as feeling the gentle sway in a circular motion that only happens during a flank bell is all unforgettable. When all back two-thirds is ordered, the ship starts to quickly slow all the while shaking violently as the propeller works against the flow of the sea. If the ships drive train or shaft was going to snap it was now. Then suddenly forward progress comes to zero and the ship starts moving backwards. Submarines are not designed to go backwards, back two-thirds' was designed only to slow the ship down or back out of a pier. Depth control is impossible when moving astern at 6 knots, a submarine cannot go backwards for long, and danger awaits those who try. Then when he has seen enough, Rickover mercifully orders "all stop," and the crash back is over. For those of us crammed in together tightly in the control room we could breathe again. The engine room did not break off and sink to the bottom, no casualties no alarms, just a combined sense of relief, a hushed silence that seemed longer than it was. Alpha trial was history; we had a propulsion system that worked properly, next came surfacing and transiting home.

The sun was about 30 minutes away from rising and the ship was on the surface heading due west to Newport News. At night on the surface a submarine usually has the Officer of the Deck stationed on the bridge and the control room rigged for black or all lighting off. I was still on watch with three hours left before making port. There was still too many crewmembers abounding about performing there assigned duties coming and going and hard to make out their faces due to the darkness. I was standing mostly out of the way on the back starboard side of the control room next to a chart table keeping my log up and trying to stay upright having found a way to cat nap by wedging snuggly my left arm through a cable run and a stanchion all the while remaining unnoticed in the darkness. Up till now I had not seen Rickover at all like some of my shipmates who got a very brief glace at him walking through the mess decks. Hours before I heard via the rumor mill that he "went off" on a friend of mine who was vacuuming the wardroom, demonstrating his well-known temper; thoughtlessly glad that it was not me. Then suddenly without any warning the forward door leading in and out of the control room opened at the same time all the white overhead lights came on, bringing shouts and groans most of us present. Making a blunder by turning white lights on when rigged for red is usually a big no-no but today was not a normal day. It was as if a sunrise service was about to start, and heaven had opened up; all eyes now straining to adjust to the lights and wondering if we were about to witness something divine. It became clear that our XO was the cause of the sudden brightness as he barged in pushing watch standers out of his way. My blurry eyes now told me that he was coming in my direction as I instinctively pulled my left arm free. But then a mysterious shape moved away from behind Mr. Keef and became annoyed waiting for a startled watch stander to vacate a bench locker so he could sit down. Of course, this had to be God, and my first impression was that he really was smaller than everyone had said. He was wearing a set of khakis that was too big and without any epaulets that displayed his rank, he looked disheveled and very tired. I was shocked at how old and fragile he looked. Now in the control room there was complete silence as everyone became aware of his presence as well as wondering what was going on. It soon became evident that God was about to hold court for some unknow reason, and he wanted to do it dangerously close to where I was standing. I tried to give him some space by backing away, but more riders started filling in the control room from the aft door and now I had someone pushing me forward peering over my shoulder, vying for a spot to witness what was soon to come. Once all of the need to be in control disciples had taken station God's presence was now revealed and that he soon would speak to us, a bible quote or a sermon seeing that it was indeed Sunday. The XO had the honor to present Rickover to the crew over the ships 1MC, his introduction was succinct, but God gave a long, rambling unscripted speech that was difficult for me at the time to comprehend. I was almost pressed against him when he started to talk, he had to use both hands to steady the microphone that was presented to him. It was a unforgettable moment for me; I was staring at god; Keef was staring at me and Rickover was staring at something unknown, maybe he could see where our country was going, perhaps a warning that he describes so hauntingly at the end of his speech about an America that he would likely never live to see.

The XO was thinking the worst of me because up till now no crewmember that I knew of had been allowed to be in such close proximity to Rickover and for that long of a time; I was close enough to touch him. My XO must have been thinking that I had it in me to wreck the sea trial by punking an admiral which would have caused a ruckus that would have had been heard at the pentagon. I now understand his concern because in the days that followed, I received several suggestions coming from the mess decks as usual on what I should have done; any one of which would have put me into the Infamous Hall of fame and now will be better if left unmentioned. Keef was staring at me and with his eyes he was saying "don't do it" and if you do it you will pay. The man did not know that I did not have it in me to be so low and soon the "sermon from a bench" was over without interruption from me or anyone. As God got up to leave, I did think momentarily of patting him on the back but thankfully did not and now realizing how absurd that would have been. So, there I was frozen in the moment trying to recount and understand what he was talking about. Luckily, his speech was recorded and later made available, after reading it repeatedly I now know what he meant as well as its timeless meaning, so relevant in the America of today and it went:

We just completed alpha trial on the San Francisco and the propulsion plant operated satisfactory. I want to once again congratulate the Engineers and craftsman of the Newport News Shipbuilding and drydock company for their excellent work as evidenced by this successful trial. The men and women of Newport News continue the tradition of shipbuilding competence that the navy counts on. I especially want to congratulate the officers and men of the USS San Francisco. Anyone witnessing these trials would find it hard to believe that over half of the crew had never been to sea before except for short training periods. The men and officers have demonstrated they are capable of doing an outstanding job. I know that you will continue to do your duties in the same outstanding manner. Our country should be proud of Commander Marshall, the officers, and his men. On behalf of the Navy, I thank all of you for a job well done.

Since no church service could be held on board the San Francisco this Sunday, I am taking advantage of the occasion to deliver a little homily: I was born in the first year of this century and experienced a childhood which had not changed much since that of the time of the Civil War. I now live in the age of nuclear weapons, space travel, and silicon chips. These diverse experiences make me feel as though I have been a participant in two separate lives. But I am much the same person I was in the early days. There were no automobiles on the road; horses were still man's most important companion and friend from the animal world. At night with no electricity there was total darkness, only lit by the moon and stars. Except for the barking of a dog or the hoof-beats of a horse, it was quiet.

In the present age there is no unifying faith to bind us together; in its place there is only half-hearted adherence to many conflicting and diverse forms of ideological or emotional nonsense.

Another attribute for the vanished age which distinguished it from that of the was the reliance on reason; on the cumulative knowledge of the past; of common sense, instead of pop, fashion, or craze.

Despite the vast improvement in living and social conditions and great technological and scientific advances that I have witnessed in my lifetime, there is one thing that I should like to be reborn which is missing in the materially guided United States of today. This is the belief in the importance of honorable conduct and dealings' confidence in men and women of all classes and callings in their own capacity for reasons of good sense, and a pride in our country and its achievement, past present and future.

This was shared by aristocrat, bourgeois and working man alike. These, despite all the differences in the individual circumstances and ways of life, made us united as one nation. And these ideals which cannot be served by money alone are what make people great. And what our people are is what our country is.

Then it was all over, and alpha trial was complete. The San Francisco was back tied up at the shipyard and Admiral Rickover was gone as well as the MIB's. Next up for the lucky 711 was sound trials where technicians got to listen to how much noise we made at various speeds and reported back that the ship with the new tier two silencing improvements was now the quietest submarine in the fleet. On the 24 of April 1981 the San Francisco was commissioned at pier 4 Naval Base Norfolk attended by none other than the Secretary of Defense Casper Weinberger who told everyone in attendance that my ship was now the fastest, quietist and most deadly submarine in the world. We proudly left Norfolk for good in June 1981 and headed for the Panama Canal. Once in the Pacific Ocean we turned north to our namesake city and participated in Fleet Week, a four day party where Mayor Feinstein present our captain the key to the city and a good time was had by all; once the party was over my ship sailed west to Pearl Harbor and had a long-storied career.

I left the San Franscisco 2 years later to continue my journey elsewhere. I retired from the Navy in 2002 while stationed at Cape Canaveral Florida. During my stay at the cape, I was tracked down by the Navy's Bureau of Medicine or BUMED because of their concern about my time working at Newport News Shipyard. I was directed to get an X-ray and take various lung function tests for mesothelioma; it turned out that all that nasty dust back in "building 1" might have been spiked with asbestos and other unknown air born guck. Thankfully, my test was negative, however, years later through the wonder of social media I found out that several of my shipmates had developed serious lung issues that were related to the time in the shipyard.

As for Admiral Rickover he went back to Crystal City but not for long. He participated in one more alpha trial on the USS La Jolla that did not go well at all; during the crash-back the Admiral froze and his inaction by not ordering "all stop" while backing at two-thirds caused a horrific loss of ships depth and trim which caused a controlled panic in the control room resulting in the their Captain ordering an emergency main ballast tank blow to the surface, that saved the ship. Several days later, once back in Washington, Rickover was ordered to the White House to answer for it in person to the president. On 31 January 1982, the then 83-year-old Admiral was told while sitting in the Oval Office that his service to the navy was no longer required and was now retired. It took President Regan to break the news to Rickover and after 67 years in the navy he was unceremoniously let out to pasture.

Now, at this point the astute reader would assert that the author had never really met Admiral Rickover. Then the author would have to define the term meeting. Does meeting someone mean a hardy handshake and idle conversation, if so then, I never met God but then no one met him on the San Francisco that day. The author would explain that at this point in Rickover's earthly existence "meeting" someone was not what God did. It was germane to Rickover that by the time a ship started builders' trials everyone on it was competent; superbly trained and had the complete confidence of the cognizant local commanders to proceed to sea and then safely operate the ship. Rickover was not there to get to know anyone let alone a lowly 19-year-old control room watch stander that for a moment had a chance encounter with him. So, without any preconceived meaning of the word "meet" I still say that I met God.

I am not a frequent visitor to Arlington National Cemetery, but when I do go, I always stroll past where people I respect now rest. Near president Kennedys grave and under a Japanese cheery tree you will find where Rickover is buried, and I always stop there for a moment and remember the time I had the chance to reach out and touch him.

17