By summer 1966, Soviet anger at the involvement of the United States in the Vietnam conflict increased as B-52 bombers from the U.S. Strategic Air Command began bombing enemy forces in Southeast Asia. Thousands of Americans were drafted into military service, and many participated in ground combat activities, in which U.S. Ranger battalions fought the Vietcong in actions that resulted in large numbers of casualties on both sides. The U.S. Navy became more directly involved in the combat as jets from the USS Enterprise and USS Hancock bombed North Vietnamese tar- gets, including a variety of boats carrying supplies for the Vietcong. The American public became increasingly aroused at the mounting U.S. casualties, and new antiwar activities began to spread throughout the United States.
With the Viperfish floating alongside the pier at Pearl Harbor, qualifications on her systems began to assume a brisk pace. Overhauled equipment, now reassembled, was working; electronic panels with their array of lights and meters were energized; and piping diagrams could be followed until the systems were thoroughly memorized.
The scientists working with our Special Project became known by the crew as scientists on board (SOBs). Although they were not in the Navy, there was a pecking order of sorts, including a senior SOB named Lt. Gerry Short, who seemed to direct the others. Because Lieutenant Short was not strictly a civilian, being attached to some branch of an Air Force Intelligence group, nobody was quite sure how to deal with him. We didn't salute him. He didn't wear an Air Force uniform. He didn't tell any stories about flying airplanes, and none of us ever did figure out why our Special Project required somebody from the Air Force.
Three of the crew on board the Viperfish worked with the Special Project. Lean and quiet Lt. Al Dobkin and the ship's photographer, a perky man named Robbie Teague, were assigned to work with the civilians under the capable but taciturn Comdr. John Spiegel. All three men remained as secretive about the Special Project as everyone else who called the Viperfish hangar their home. The whole collection of civilians, the two naval officers, the Air Force officer, and the enlisted Navy photographer stayed in the hangar area of the submarine most of the time, as they had when we were in dry dock, and seldom mingled with the rest of us.
At mealtime, the SOBs and other Special Project men wandered into the crew's dining area when the food was served. They ate quietly without joining in the ribald humor that characterized our dining experience. When they finished eating, they silently glided back to the hangar. The entire group seemed to be scientific engineering types, with interests selectively focused on their project.
In fact, I learned later that the remoteness of the non-Navy SOBs resulted from a degree of intimidation at being in such a foreign environment and surrounded by more than a hundred submariners. Also, their movements on board were constrained because they were physically bound by the security regulations that held them to the limits of their work with the Fish. Although they did not show much visible excitement for these reasons, I came to learn that they were proud to be serving with the Viperfish crew and they readily trusted us to bring them back from the submerged explorations that lay ahead.
As the qualifications work became more intense and the size of our crew expanded, Marc Birken reported on board the Viperfish. Marc was a veteran of the Polaris submarine USS Daniel Boone and a lover of sports cars and "steaming" (blowing off steam on lib- erty). He was aching to finish his obligation in the Navy as quickly as possible so that he could return to civilian life and teach in the trade schools of Ohio. Marc was a fun-loving man who viewed the submarine world with a "hang loose, baby" attitude. He was in love with his TR-3 convertible sports car, which regularly squealed him around Waikiki. One of the nukes, he was an electrician by training and his dolphins were the pride of his life.
The first time he passed by the reactor operator area and noticed Bruce Rossi's characteristic tense face and mean looks, he glanced sideways toward me and struggled to avoid the grin that was his trademark. We quickly became friends, and he regularly chastised me for worrying about Bruce and having too serious an attitude.
The days passed quickly at the submarine base. Working my way through one system after another, I moved beyond any threat of placement on the dink list. When confinement among the men and machinery of the Viperfish, day after day, became too oppressive, the sweet call of liberty in Waikiki beckoned seductively from the east. The process of going on liberty and steaming was widely regarded as the solution to an oppressed mind.
For us, steaming consisted of a high-speed departure from the Viperfish to the barracks, a hot shower with plenty of soap to wash off the unique odors of a submarine, the donning of civvies (civilian clothes) to disguise our military origin, and the jumping into a Cadillac taxi to roar off to Waikiki. We found that the best way to start the steaming process was at the Fort DeRussy Army Base, near the Hilton Hawaiian Village, where decent bourbon could be purchased for about thirty cents per drink. After we had consumed a proper amount of beverage, the stage was set to continue our steaming at the night spots of Waikiki.
Meeting women in Waikiki was not difficult. The surplus of dancing establishments scattered throughout the area was perfect for military men on liberty, and Marc delighted in establishing a relationship with any woman who looked even slightly interesting. On our third or fourth night of steaming, he taught me a remarkably successful way to solidify an emerging relationship with a young lady. The process started with mai tais, moonlight, and sweet Hawaiian music. It was further stimulated by Marc's gracious manner toward the ladies, mixed with his disarming sense of humor.
After several dances with an attractive woman, he leaned forward and drew her close to him. Before she 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 Viperfish and it is an excellent warship, one of the best in the Navy. It has a nice periscope, the control room has some beautiful lights, and you would be quite safe, being on a military base and all."
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 Viperfish topside watch saw our group meandering down the dark pier at 0100, we could hear the distant muttering of something relating to Jesus Christ.
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.