USS Barb Sea Story Page
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... USS Barb failed an Operational Reactor Safeguard Examination, or "ORSE". We therefore lost the ability to get underway on nuclear power. Very humiliating...
Things were pretty grim. Any nuke who wasn't qualified up to their highest watch-station was "dink" (delinquent) in their quals. I had recently reported to the boat, and was qualified all the way up to Auxiliary Electrician Aft, which is the lowest watchstation a nuke can achieve. Needless to say, I was hideously "dink" right out of the gate. Those of us who were dink could kiss liberty goodbye until about 2200 hours. Saturdays were likewise gone. Sunday was all yours, if you didn't have duty on Saturday or Sunday!
Kommisars from submarine squadron would come aboard un-announced and poke around, asking questions. They would follow you around, scribbling notes furiously in their little note pads, as you tried to do your job and act like you weren't at all nervous. I realized that they were only doing what they were supposed to do - which was breathe down our necks, but it was still very demoralizing.
That's not the humorous part of this story, in case you were wondering...
One day a submarine squadron officer was aboard, observing one of our ELTs (John "John Boy" Walton) do the steam generator chemisty. John didn't much appreciate being under the microscope. The ORSE "hit list" that we all had to read was amusing:
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"He never looked at the procedure other than to open it to the correct page"
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"He seemed hostile toward me"
I asked John what made the guy think that John was hostile. John said that after he had finished chemistry and cleaned up the steam generator sample sink, the guy from squadron stuck his head in, looking everywhere inside for anything he could find wrong. It took a long time. Meanwhile John was waiting, holding the large (somewhat heavy) stainless steel door in both hands. John said that just as soon as the guy's head was clear, he slammed the door in place as hard and loudly as he could, and locked it down. "He seemed hostile" was probably an excellent appraisal of the situation.
That's a little side-trip to the case of the missing 2MC, just to help you understand the building pressure...
One of the guys from submarine squadron had somehow noticed a missing thumb-screw from the cover plate of a 2MC (public address system) box in Engine Room Lower Level. The 2MC was in the overhead, inboard of the 8k evaporator. He put it on the ORSE "hit list". After a few months of harassment, most of us were feeling a little abused, and what came next, I blame mostly on the abuse.
I had duty one Sunday. In the evening, as I was studying quals in crews mess, a Machinist Mate (who was also dink) called me on the X60J and asked me to come aft to Engine Room Lower Level. I came aft and dropped down to ERLL and found him in the Condensate Bay. The first thing he showed me was an ORSE "hit list" of things he was supposed to have fixed by Monday morning. Only two or three items of an entire page were scratched off. He was visibly trembling in anger.
He said "I need your help with something."
I asked him what I could help him with.
"I fixed the problem with the 2MC".
I said "Great. Where did you find a fancy chrome-plated thumbscrew to match the other three?"
He said "I didn't. I beat the living sh*t out of it with the fire-axe."
...aaaand at that point I looked back over my shoulder, and saw the mutilated 2MC box, dangling by its armored cable. The thin metal box was punctured in dozens of places, with shiny holes where the paint had been violently removed by the axe.
This is when I became an accomplice to murder.
I cut the armored cable off the box, and insulated the individual wires with electrical tape. I tucked the cable up into a bundle of other armored cables and cinched it down with a tie-wrap. Then I stuffed the 2MC box in the bottom of a trash can. In the morning I personally took that heavy-ass bag of trash to the pier dumpster and disposed of the dead body of the 2MC. Sometimes I am useful.
Over time, word got around about my 2MC cover-up within the engineering department ranks.
Not long after all this occurred, we passed a second ORSE. I'm not sure how we passed that ORSE, with that thumbscrew (and the rest of the 2MC box) missing.
HOWEVER, eventually somebody was performing maintenance, and realized that an entire 2MC box was missing in Engine Room Lower Level. The bad news traveled up the chain of command, and Important People wanted to know what had happened to it. Now that O-div was aware, they were looking for answers. One day at quarters on the pier, the XO raised the issue, and he made it very clear that he was NOT happy about it. His tirade was followed by the supply officer announcing that he could not get a replacement without turning in the original item.
While the Big Kahunas stood up front explaining the severity of this situation, the crew was standing at parade rest. My body was tingling with embarassment and guilt. Inwardly (and probably outwardly) I was quivering over fear of being exposed. Meanwhile several of the guys behind and beside me were poking me, and snickering with barely contained laughter. I was certain an officer would notice, and that I would be keelhauled forthwith... I am not a good accomplice to doing very bad things.
In the end, the supply officer somehow managed to get a replacement 2MC, Forward IC-Div installed it, and all was well again with the universe.
I had only been on board for a couple of weeks in Oct. 72'. "A Ganger" Lenny Belle had Topside watch & made an announcement from the 1-MC Bridge Suitcase. The switch did not go to the off position when he released it. We heard the Below Decks watch yell up & tell Lenny that the Capt. said for him to un-key the 1-MC, it was stuck open.
Lenny called back his assent & hit the switch. It still did not un-key. Shortly, the Below Decks watch yell up & repeated his previous message to which Lenny replied, "Tell that stupid Son Of a B*%^$h it is Un-keyed". A few seconds we all heard someone say, "Lenny, I'm your relief. The Capt. wants to see you in his state room, now"
At that point the Bridge Suitcase was disconnected. Capt. Hummer took mercy on Lenny and he came out of it unscathed.
Gary Gard
Sherlock Holmes and the case of the missing 2MC
(a humorous story about the loss of a Public Address speaker)
The stuck switch...
By R. G. “Gary” Gard
THE BALLAD OF THE BARB GATE (a very cool submariner's poem)
On the North end of Mare Island
Stood a Gatehouse, tall and clean.
It bore a strong resemblance
To A U. S. submarine.
It even had fairwater planes
Looked almost real to me.
It was guarded by the brave men
Of the old U.S.M.C.
Now each boat needs a number
Her hull to designate.
And on 596 we knew
The job just couldn’t wait.
To paint our own hull number on
That gatehouse might be hard
But it proved to be a piece of cake
For the boys who rode the Barb
Now Tim and Max and Larry
Were the painters on that day
Danny forged the order that
They hoped would pave the way
The document was handed to
The corporal of the guard
And he opened up that gatehouse
To the artists from the Barb
They pulled it off, they did it
The stencil they affixed
And painted on the number
Of our old 596
Our number graced that gatehouse
At Mare Island Navy Yard
A feat that will live forever
In the history of the Barb
Now some folks doubt the story
But I can swear it’s true
And I still have a photo
That I will show to you
There in numbers three feet tall
With Marines still standing guard
On that gate 596 shows clear
A tribute to the Barb.
Source: James Allen
The Dumpy Oscar
One Friday afternoon, Barb was returning to Subase San Diego following a weekly op. We surfaced and ended up at the end of a long line of more senior Navy ships. Rather than spend the time just bobbing around, the CO decided to spend the time bobbing around and doing man overboard drills.
One of the guys was told to make an “Oscar” to throw overboard and rescue. He didn’t have much experience building fake people, but did his best with the materials he was given.
Just as he finished up, the XO arrived. The XO had a body shaped about like Barney Rubble on the Flintstones cartoons.
The XO said, “That’s a pretty dumpy-looking Oscar you’ve got there”
The guy building the Oscar stopped working. He stood back and eyed the Oscar critically with his arms crossed. Finally acknowledged the XO's criticism. “You’re right XO. Could I borrow your collar devices for it?”
Sung to the tune of Billy Joel's "Piano Man"
It's two A. M. on a Saturday
The hungover nukes stumble in.
Theres a bag-eyed geek sleeping next to me
Until four, when the startup begins
At nine o'clock we go critical
by noon we get underway
And we're quick to get burned
but we still haven't learned
what's so great about submarine pay
Call the nukes in off liberty!
We're starting the plant up tonight
'cause there's not much to do out in Waikiki
tell the koners to be here by nine
Now Joe the EO is a friend of mine
He doesn't like going to sea
He thinks the ship blows
But there's one thing he knows
That there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says "Spud I believe this is killing me"
as the smile ran away from his face
I would marry my girl
if you would stand by
so that I could get out of this place
Call the nukes in off liberty!
We're starting the plant up tonight
'cause there's not much to do in the Phillipines
tell the koners to be here by nine
It's a pretty good crew for a pigboat
and the captain we see once a'while
'Cause he knows that us hacks
keep his career in the black
as we shovel away at the pile
Call the nukes in off liberty!
We're starting the plant up tonight
'cause there's not much to do in the world, you see
tell the koners to be here by nine
Entry from the journal that I kept to keep me sane (it didn't work)
26 November 1985 - Tuesday - underway specop (420 days to EAOS)
(We pulled into Adak, Alaska on Friday for 18 hours. We needed emergency repairs on the anchor light, which had detached from the rudder and was banging around at the end of the cable. We also needed to shut down the reactor to replace an electrical component).
Very interesting - There were no shore power cables waiting for us.
Turned out that the pier was some funky civilian design with only 280 Amp breakers, and just a single 600 Amp breaker for the entire pier. (the ship needs 1200 Amp service). Furthermore there wasn's a single heavy cable on the island that could support our power needs.
> Meanwhile, back at the ship, the Eng desperately wanted to shut down, but the diesel was tits-up for two reasons:
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We had managed to flood it via the exhaust spray interlock just before we pulled in
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The 2SN (snorkel safety circuit) was giving them trouble after they got the water out of the engine, so it kept shutting down every time they tried to re-start it.
> Meanwhile, back aft, we kept steaming to supply ship's power.
>Meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out how to get us some shore power. Some Seabee explained that they have two generators on trailers, a 100 Kilowatt and a 300 Kilowatt rig. "Goody" I said. Howabout bringing the 300Kilowatt trailer down here? "Well", he said, "It has no voltage regulator, and no wheels either". Yep, this place was the perfect spot to repair a submarine.
> Meanwhile the Diesel was going nowhere, because the I&C guy was trying to point the finger at a mechanical problem, rather than troubleshoot the snorkel safety circuit 2SN. A-Div asked one of the nuke electricians to help. The I&C guy got pissed, and told the nuke to leave.
>Meanwhile my E-Div Chief is roaming the island with a local, looking for some cable so that we can bring on a whopping 280 Amps of shore power through that tiny little breaker. 280 Amps would almost supply 1/4 of our needs.
I took 30 minutes to go topside and snap a few pictures. While there, I saw my first ever wild Bald Eagles. The eagles were squabbling over scraps inside the pier dumpster. Quite a letdown...
>Meanwhile two of the A-Gangers asked me to troubleshoot 2SN. I looked at the print and decided on 3 suspect switches. We headed for the diesel room. Before we arrived, an I&C guy from USS Dixon (AS-37) located and jumpered the faulty switch, and the diesel started. The guy from Dixon had been flown into Adak to repair our anchor light.
>Meanwhile the E-Div chief and some local guy showed up with this long ratty old 100 Yd long cable they found in the bottom of an old storage barge.
>Meanwhile the Eng decided that the diesel generator was running reliably enough to shut the reactor down. The on-watch section performed the shut down so that the port TG undervoltage device (a reactor protection thingie) could be replaced. The fearless men of RC div opened up the now de-energized cabinet and replaced the failed part.
>Meanwhile the E-Div chief had been eyeballing that nasty old cable and thinking bad things. It had connectors to plug into the pier breakers at both ends. What if we cut it in half and plugged each half into a pier breaker? Then we could get 280 Amps x 2=560 Amps!! This was an excellent idea, but my enthusiasm for running this glorified extension cord to connect shore power was dwindling fast for several reasons. Among them:
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It was getting dark and really cold - nobody brought clothing along on Westpac for an arctic trip.
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We had no equipment to install electrical lugs on a freshly cut cable, and neither did Adak
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The reactor was already shutdown, with the diesel generator supplying the ship's power needs
My enthusiasm level had nothing to do with the fiasco that followed. E-Div chief and Eng decided that shore power was essential, so we cut that skinny cable in half. I located some lugs, which I drilled bolt holes into, and dragged the freshly cut end of each half-cable down to the Engine Room Upper Level bench vise. There we proceeded to "crimp" the lugs onto the cable conductors with the help of the bench vise. Serously.
The EWS watch made a very bad day even worse, by throwing his weight around and telling me that "my" cables were fouling "his" hatches. I ignored him, which made him almost as mad as I was.
Finally the shore power cables were made up. We hauled them topside, pulled them into the aft escape trunk, and made the electrical connection to the ship. This was when we learned that the plugs on the original cable were NOT identical. One end plugged in to the pier breaker, but the other end did not, because it was supposed to be plugged into a tugboat. Well duh - who connects one pier breaker to another pier breaker? So one of our new cables was useless.
By now the handful of us working on the single functional cable were frozen, and working in the dark under the Westpac light, which kept going out every few minutes. The phase rotation was wrong the first time, so we had to swap phases and try again. When everything (finally!!!) looked OK, we closed the shore power disconnects and checked for grounds. Yep, we had a huge ground on our single 280 Amp extension cord, so we weren't going to use pier power.
At this point the Eng was satisfied with the "shore power" arrangement, and for unknown reasons, no longer felt a driving urge to switch it on.
So we didn't. What a colossal waste of effort...
I stumbled blindly to my rack and fell asleep, still in my bluejacket and shoes, with the thunder of the diesel beneath vibrating my entire body. When I woke up the diesel was off, the reactor was up, and the shore power cable was gone. It was already time to set the maneuvering watch.
Adak was over.
Anchor's Aweigh
Did you know that submarines have an anchor? Submarine anchors *never* get used, because submarines are much like aircraft. You need to have headway to control depth. You pretty much have to be surfaced to use the anchor, and at that point you are as vulnerable as one of the targets. (More vulnerable, because the targets have countermeasures, which subs do not). As a result of this situation, the crew's knowledge of how to operate the anchor mechanism (which is quite complicated), is mostly theoretical.
One time we were in a floating drydock, the San Onofre, at Subase San Diego. There was a maintenance requirement to inspect the anchor and chain, and to test the operating mechanism. I think the drydock had been through this scenario before, because they had piled up three wooden pallets directly under the anchor, and everyone was standing well clear.
The poor guy who was instructed to lower the anchor did so, but the anchor was in free-all all the way to the bottom of the drydock. It made a hell of a loud noise, and converted all the pallets into splinters. Fortunately it didn't damage the drydock.
Why is it called a "Drydock" again?
It was the day before we were to come out of a short stay in the floating drydock, San Onofre (ARD-30). A group of guys from the drydock had requested to remove the auxiliary seawater discharge fittings and hoses before the drydock was to be flooded the following day. The discharged water would simply run down into the drydock and flow overboard out the back of the drydock.
The reason for doing removing the discharge fittings was to leave less work for the divers. The divers would only have to remove the hoses supplying our seawater. Those hoses supplying the seawater suctions had to remain in place of course, so that the ship’s generators and air conditioning units could run until the water level in the drydock rose high enough to submerge the seawater suctions on the following day.
The men of the Barb always try to be helpful, and so we arranged a relay of guys to call down to maneuvering from up topside. The length of time our equipment could run without cooling water before overheating was probably only a couple of minutes, so this whole operation had to be done quickly. We made that very clear to the guys from the drydock.
The Aux seawater discharge was halfway up the side of the ship, and so two guys from the drydock maneuvered over to it in a man-lift. They removed all but a couple of bolts from the flange, which was bolted to the hull. Then, when the two of them were ready to remove the last couple of bolts, they gave the signal to shut off the water flow.
Our little voice relay went down to maneuvering, and one of the watch-standers pulled the “Chicken Switch” which snapped shut the seawater hull and backup valves. Then they relayed up to us that seawater flow was shut off. I signaled to the guys in the man-lift that it was OK to unbolt the flange.
Those guys worked like mad. They rapidly got the flange loose and dropped it inside the man lift basket, still attached to the utility hose. They quickly gave us the signal that it was OK to resume seawater flow. So we relayed the word down below, and the watch-stander put the “Chicken Switch” to open.
Unfortunately, the guys in the man lift hadn’t moved, and so a four-inch column of water streamed out the side of the ship and drenched both of them. They struggled to move the man-lift basket out of the way as the water pushed them around and continued to soak them. Everyone topside on Barb was rolling with laughter, while these poor guys’ chief glared at us from the drywall wing.
It was hard to tell if the chief was angrier about his guys getting soaked, or about us laughing at them.
The Poltergeist in the aft head
For those unfamiliar, the aft head is a single-hole toilet, enclosed in a small sheet metal room, which is made of stainless steel. Submarine toilets gravity-drain to a holding tank, similar to how an RV toilet works. Unlike RV toilets however, the sewage tank on a sub has to be pressurized with air to force the contents out the drain and overboard.
Needless to say, there are many hilarious stories of submariners using the bathroom, forgetting about the "blowing sanitaries" sign, and blasting sewage all over themselves. This is not one of those stories.
We were in port, and I had duty as Engineering Duty Petty Officer for the day. It was after evening chow when I made my way aft to review the logs and see what the duty section was up to.
The off-going shutdown roving watch, a Machinist's Mate, had decided that it was time to do something about the slow-draining aft toilet. He was preparing to reverse-blow the #3 sanitary tank into the ship. (Note to civilians: Chemical drain cleaners are not allowed on submarines, because they could corrode critical systems and endanger the ship).
The aft head was unique on the ship, because for some reason, it had a remote-operated shutoff valve between the toilet bowl and the holding tank that the toilet drained into. This valve was normally left open unless the sanitary tank was being blown overboard.
When I arrived, the MM had opened the toilet bowl drain valve, and shut the remote hydraulic valve. He duct-taped all the seams on the door. Next, he pressurized the sanitary tank to 50 psi, which I thought was a little excessive. And at that point, he flipped the switch for the hydraulic valve, releasing 50 psi of smelly air upwards through the toilet bowl.
The results were impressive. There was a muffled high-pitched shriek that quickly became a deep pipe-organlike rumble as the valve came fully open. The cubicle enclosing the toilet shuddered and rumbled, while the sheet metal flexed and bowed. It was as if a living, howling demon were trapped inside the toilet enclosure, trying to escape. Surely any clog would be removed by this massive surge of air...
After a few seconds, he shut the switch, and the hydraulic valve snapped shut, cutting off the racket. A foul stench began to make itself present. The MM removed the tape and opened the door, then sat on the stairs over the propulsion shaft, so that he could survey his handiwork. It was pretty gross: There was 2 inches of watery brown liquid standing in the bottom of the stall. Tiny bits of toilet paper were stuck to every surface, and dangling from the ceiling fan's wire shroud.
I left the area, wanting NOTHING to do with the next phase of this project. After perhaps 45 minutes, I returned, and found the MM once again sitting on the stairs few feet from the open stall. I assumed he had vented the air pressure from the sanitary tank during the time I had been gone, so I re-opened the remote hydraulic valve, to put things back into normal line-up.
The MM had NOT vented the sanitary tank, and the howling demon was unleashed again - this time with the door wide open, with the MM in the blast zone of flying sewage.
Startled by the noise, I looked over toward the enclosure. Once again it was heaving, with its sides flexing. This time however, it was spraying a fog of awful stuff out at the MM, who was just a couple of feet from the door. I could see his hair being buffeted in the wind as threw his arms over his face. As soon as I realized what had happened, I closed the remote valve, cutting off the deep pipe-organ note.
It was too late. His front side was soaked, and he REALLY needed a shower. We had to sneak someone off the ship to get him replacement clothes, and sneak him forward naked to get him showered up. I felt really embarrassed and stupid. No telling how he felt...
It took about an hour to clean up the blast zone in engine room upper level, and another hour to wipe down the inside of the enclosure. The back part of the engine room never completely lost the smell of the demon from #3 sanitary tank.
I
Near Death at Sea - Jim Bazemore
It was the summer of 1985. We just got word we would be leaving in 6 weeks for a 6 month deployment overseas. The sub was no where near ready. For the next six weeks we worked feverishly to get her ready. In the middle of it all we had to train four new kids to stand watch in the engine room. They would never be ready before we leave. Damn, that means have to stand six hours on and six hours off until they are qualified. Guess no sleep for me for a while.
Well, she is ready. We leave before the sun rises over San Diego. We are to spend 2 weeks transiting the Pacific Ocean to our patrol are.
On the 7th day we are about 500 miles south of Hawaii doing all the routine stuff. Maintenance, training, running drills. On subs there is no night or day, it is just when you are awake and when you are asleep eating in between.
I am sitting in my bunk reading a book to try and relax. I notice the sub start to dive as the angle gets steeper. It continues to get steeper and I think “Damn, doing angles and dangles now”. The angle gets even steeper, I am crunched into a ball at the head of the bunk. Something is not right.
It is now a submariner hears the thing you never want to hear on a sub. Bong, Bong, Bong. It’s the Collision Alarm, followed by a frantic announcement to rig ship for flooding. What is going on. We are no pointing about 40 degrees nose down. This is really no good. Everyone is running around to get to their assigned stations. I am trying to get out of the bunk but the angle is so step.
I have to get back to the Engine room and help out. I finally struggle out and get dressed and run back. The angle is now about 50 degrees nose down.
The next announcement I hear is “Reactor Scram”. The power for the engines is now gone. We are dead in the water going down fast.
All you can hear is a rapid, very loud popping sound as the hull is compressing as we go down. Now at 65 degrees nose down. There is no way I am making back to the engine room. There are two 400 pound doors between me and the engine room that I will never get open.
There are men running around trying whatever they can. Other are cowering under tables crying for their mothers.
The next announcement says there is no stern plane control. This means we can not change the angle to start going up. Hydraulic failure.
It is all down to Monty. I just qualified him on the watch station yesterday where the emergency hydraulic station is. I even tested him on it for the final qualification. I hope he remembers under pressure.
The hull popping is getting faster meaning we are going down faster. This is not good. I am ready to die.
Wait a minute. Something has changed. We are not as steep. Do I feel the sub starting to flatten out? Way to go Monty! You Did it! Yes, we are flattening out. The cheers in the sub are loud.
45 degrees. 35 degrees, 25 degrees, 15 degrees, we are now nose up. We are heading for the surface. We get to the surface and everyone lets out a huge sigh of relief.
We spend the next two days cleaning up the spilled hydraulic fluid as we limp to Hawaii.
We to sail another day. It is an experience we will never forget.
"I just drank WHAT???" - Doug Carr
On one underway an I&C tech from up forward was back in the engineering spaces trying to get someone to give him a qual he needed. He had been having trouble and had been sitting just outside of manuevering studying. You know what it was like at a flank bell back there, I guess he got thirsty and went to the drinking fountain crammed in front of manuevering.
One of the ELTs saw him. He got this evil grin and disappeared for a moment. Just as Stanley was coming out from drinking, the ELT (big guy can't remember his name) came through the hatch into the engine room, holding a poly bottle half full of water. When he was sure the kid had seen him, he yelled "What were you doing?!! I had that aligned to take a sample of the primary coolant!!!!" The I&Cs eyes got wide and he said in obvious terror "You mean I just drank up all them zoomies from the reactor????"
The ELT was just starting to explain the prank when a REAL casualty occured and we had to all scramble. After the we had recovered we realized we hadn't seen the guy for awhile. We finally found him back in shaft alley with a bucket and a scrub brush brushing down his tongue.