From: Texrock274@aol.com [mailto:Texrock274@aol.com] 
Sent: Monday, March 14, 2005 2:24 PM
Subject: March 14, 1955

My biggest decision (fifty years ago) on this day was, do I want to sleep on my back, or on my stomach?  My second biggest decision was, do I really want to eat this box lunch that appeared to left over from World War II? 

Fifty years ago today, I was transferred from Mare Island when I was assigned to the USS Rock in San Diego.  The day started with a ride to a near by base.  I am unsure which one it was, maybe Travis or Alameda, where we were loaded on an old R-47. 

The seating was built into the sides of the aircraft, made of canvas straps and perfectly fitted the contour of the airframe.  Seated in a bent over position was not exactly comfortable.  In the course of that flight I was served a box lunch that was a long way from fresh. In deed there is no way it got that stale in just a few hours.

We landed at North Island and had the privilege of carrying our seabags some of the way to the piers to catch a boat to San Diego and then we got to carry them to Fleet Landing.  Remember in those days we had everything we owned in them, plus at that time we still carried our own pillow and two blankets.

Our first stop was at the Sperry when my Bootcamp/Sub School buddy from Texas got off.  He had a hell of a time getting his seabag up the ladder, finally falling down and pushing it up.  You could track his progress by the movements and bumps showing in the canvas siding they covered the ladder with.

And then the Nereus, where I did not have my old friends ladder problems. As it were, the Rock was inboard boat and getting aboard was easy.  I was assigned a bunk in the Stern Room (After Torpedo Room converted into a berthing area for you that are not familiar with Radar Picket Submarines).  Passing through the hatch and continuing straight aft, to you left was four tiers of double wide bunks, with a passage between the second and third tier. 

My bunk was the bottom bunk in the third tier. Just room enough for me, if I did not want to sleep on my side (my normal position). So it was my decision before getting into my bunk, do I want to sleep on my back, or my stomach??? 

In time I was privileged to move up to the top bunk, same tier.  Room enough to actually set up.  How did a Seaman Apprentice get such a roomy bunk?  Well, it was directly under the Stern Planes Hydraulic Motor, and it leaked.  OK so there was a drip pan, but in a dive or while surfacing, the oil would run to the end of that pan and pour out on me.  Naturally I learned how to dump that drip pan damn quick.  Dickmeyer probably loved it. May still be laughing.

Seaman Apprentice? I was new, twenty years old, and worthless.  But I did I have two qualities.  One, I was not afraid of hard work and two, I was a quick learner.  I wanted to be an ET, but was conned into the Forward Engineroom by a EN2(SS) named Ralph Jacobs where there were only three men.  He convinced me I would be in the Deck Force for years before I ever got ET School.  At the time of his con, I was in the superstructure chipping and painting.(care to guess how long it was before I was in the bilges, chipping and painting?) 

My going in the Engineroom made me number 4 just enough to stand port and starboard.  A bit later I can actually remember getting underway once with three men in FER.  Roosevelt (Pop) Sibbett would stand continuos throttleman watch, napping on dives, eating when he could, while I and another oiler stood port and starboard. 

The Rock had just returned from WesPac and as was normal, a large number transferred away.  As an SA I had to stay in the deck force until I qualified before getting into the Engineroom. So I went to sea for the first week as an SA.  I fondly remember lookout watches, especially entering port the last day, before the Maneuvering Watch was set.  I reported to the OOD that there was a small boat in the distance, just off the port bow. 

The OOD asked what was it direction of travel. I replied, That-a-way (you know, away from us). He questioned what that-a-way was and I said, you know, there it that-a-way and there is this-a-way, meaning going and coming.  Strangely enough, that was the last lookout watch I ever stood.  I bet they never missed me.

I grew to love that old boat.  And today, along with the memories, I have quite a collection of old friends to share my memories with.

Wayne (or if you prefer Tex)