Tuesday, May 28, 1968

 from ’68 – A Novel

  

“Did you hear about the Scorpion?”

Skip had heard the question so many times during the day that he’d lost count and could not remember the first person who had asked. The news had spread out across the country in successive shock waves from the epicenter, the Norfolk Navy Base at Hampton Roads, Virginia. It began with a news bulletin broadcast by the CBS television affiliate in Norfolk on May 27 at around 6:00 PM local time: the USS Scorpion was overdue in port and the Navy had declared a SubMiss (submarine missing) alert. The crew of ninety-nine officers and enlisted men were drawn from thirty-three of the fifty states and long-distance phone lines lit up as families reached out to notify their loved ones.

The second wave came on Tuesday morning, May 28, when major newspapers across the country reported the SubMiss alert and the fact that the Navy had launched a massive open-water search operation. In Norfolk, The Ledger-Star proclaimed, “No Trace of Sub Found as Navy Presses Search.” The headline in the New York Times read, “U.S. Nuclear Submarine with 99 Overdue.” Again, phone lines were jammed, reaching into every corner of the country, including Vallejo, California.

Vallejo, the home of Mare Island Naval Shipyard, was an integral part of the nuclear navy. Beginning with the USS Sargo in 1957 and extending to the USS Drum in 1970, Mare Island would contribute seventeen ships to the nuclear submarine fleet, including seven “boomers” (the Navy’s nickname for ships armed with ballistic missiles) and ten fast attack boats. Mare Island was also one of several sites for the Navy’s nuclear power school. Any tremor that affected a nuclear submarine would be felt in Vallejo.

With the five o’clock shift change on the shipyard, the crowd at Skip’s Place began to grow, larger than normal for a Tuesday evening. It seemed that the shipyard workers needed to come together, to talk about what they’d heard, and hopefully, hear some encouraging news about the fate of the Scorpion. Skip knew it was just a matter of time until someone would walk in with a story of connections to the ship and its crew. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Hey, Robbie. How’s it goin’?”

“Goin’ good. What’s up?”

“Did you hear about the Scorpion?”

“What about the Scorpion?”

“She’s missing. The Navy put out a SubMiss alert yesterday afternoon.”

“Damn! That’s my brother-in-law’s ship!”

All along the bar, eyes turned in Robbie’s direction. No one said a word. After several seconds, Robbie broke the silence. “Hey, Skip, I gotta call my sister in Norfolk—”

“Sure, Robbie.” Skip didn’t wait for him to finish. “Use the phone in the office.”

“Thanks, Skip.” Robbie hurried toward the door to the small office located off the end of the bar. “I’ll pay you for the call.”

“Can you believe that? His brother-in-law’s ship?”

“Anybody know what class it is?”

“Yeah, it’s a Skipjack. Built in Groton.”

“Did we build any Skipjacks?”

“Just one: the Scamp. Launched in 1960. It’s a good design—faster than hell. I hear it maneuvers like a sports car.”

“Yeah, a hundred guys crammed into a sports car. I tell you what, it’s no job for sissies.”

            “You been on one, Jack?”

“Yeah. My last six years were in the submarine service … the last three on the USS Haddo.  She’s Thresher class.”

Now all eyes turned to Jack with the respect due someone who knows.

“Yeah, no job for sissies. You have no idea what it’s like out there, underwater for weeks at a time, bored out of your skull, and then all of a sudden you’re in places you’re not supposed to be, under a Soviet destroyer or some other damn ship, and your heart’s pounding so hard you’d swear they could hear it on their sonar. I pissed myself more than once, and that’s no lie. Collisions and near-collisions, stuff you’ll never hear about, because the Navy doesn’t want you to know.”

Jack finished his beer and signaled to Skip for another.

“And you have no idea what it does to the wives, either. Killed my marriage, that’s for sure. She just couldn’t take it—the separations, the silence, the missions you couldn’t talk about. She was a good woman, too.”

Everyone felt bad for Jack. It was quiet again along the bar. He continued.

“You know, when you’re scheduled to go on patrol, they put it to you straight. Make sure your affairs are in order. Make sure your insurance premiums are paid up. Like I said, no job for sissies.”

Robbie emerged from the office and rejoined his friends. Skip slid a shot and beer in front of him and he threw back the shot.

“I can’t friggin’ believe it! My sister says she and the kids were down at the pier in Norfolk, waiting for the ship to come in. They got there at noon and she’s due in at 1:00 PM. There’s a Nor’easter blowing, the rain practically going sideways. They’re waiting in the car, trying to keep warm, stepping out every now and then to see if the ship’s coming. One o’clock comes and goes and they’re still waiting. Around 4:00, someone from Squadron comes down and tells them she’s been delayed and they should all go home. It’s easy to believe a delay, because of the lousy weather, so they go home. And on the six o’clock news, they break in with a report that the USS Scorpion is overdue and a sub missing alert has been issued. My eight-year-old nephew hears this and runs into the kitchen to tell his mom. Can you believe that shit? No call from Squadron. They hear about it on TV.”

Robbie was quiet then. His friends bought him another round.

Jack, the former submariner, spoke up. “Hell, as my old man used to say, ‘There’s the right way, the wrong way, and the Navy way.’ I guess this is the Navy way.”

“Look, Robbie …” Skip felt the need to offer some hope. “Missing doesn’t mean lost. She may be out there in the storm somewhere, disabled, unable to radio in. They’re launching a search. They could find her … anytime now.”

“Yeah? Maybe you’re right, Skip.” He dropped his eyes and thought about it for a few seconds. “I’ll have to take some time off … check on flights to Norfolk … my sister’s gonna need some help.”

Robbie’s friends took his car keys and ordered another round for him. They’d see to it that he got home safely.

 

In the days and weeks to come, the news would trickle out to the Scorpion families and the world at large. Around mid-day on May 27, Memorial Day, the Submarine Squadron 6 command became concerned and began a series of radio transmissions asking Scorpion to check in. Receiving no reply, Squadron transmitted alarm up the chain of command, and at 2:15 PM, COMSUBLANT (Commander, Atlantic Submarine Force) requested two reconnaissance aircraft to begin a search along the ship’s intended track. Finally, at 3:15 PM, the official SubMiss alert was broadcast to the Atlantic Fleet.

Years later, additional facts would become public knowledge. The last radio transmission from Scorpion was received shortly after midnight on May 22, when the skipper, Commander Francis Slattery, gave his current position and said he planned to be in port at 1:00 PM on May 27. Later that day, SOSUS, the then-secret underwater acoustic monitoring system, recorded the explosion that sent Scorpion to the ocean floor under eleven thousand feet of water, four hundred miles southwest of the Azores. On May 23, Vice Admiral Arnold Schade, commander of the Atlantic Submarine Force, requested and received approval to launch a top-secret search for the wreckage of the submarine.

Of course, the Scorpion families, waiting on Pier 22 in the middle of a howling storm on May 27, knew none of this. Not that it would have provided any comfort to know that their sailors were on eternal patrol.

_____