I just noticed that the anniversary of the loss of THRESHER is upon us. How easily we forget.

Looking back now, I recall that I had just reported from San Diego to the Sub-Base "FFT NAUTILUS" that same day and went over early to Bank Street to look for some diversion. There had been a hint of rumor on the Sub-Base about a Sub overdue to surface, but as we all know that had been rumored before when a boat was late surfacing, or tardy with her "On Surface" message.

By the time I got to Ernie's, there to my wondering eyes, was Bernie Bankstreet, the Mayor of New London, whom I had not seen in several years. I mentioned the rumor, but both of us had seen this on two occasions on the West Coast, so neither of us were very concerned. We were drinking "Depth Charges" and cheerfully shootin' the breeze with other acquaintances, when someone came in with the bad news putting an end to the rumor.

As the word was relayed down the bar, silence swept over the room. Gruff men stood in disbelief, with mouths agape. The party was over and most of the drinkers were cold sober as they left. I would like to say that we all raised our glasses in a final toast " ... to those already dead, and to the next to die ... ," but it didn't happen that way ... we just walked out.

I'd been away from New London quite awhile and had lost track of my East Coast shipmates, so I didn't know of anyone in THRESHER. The next morning I got a copy of the sailing list and scanned down the names. Although a name here and there was familiar and I thought I probably had known them from somewhere, I had not been tight shipmates with any of them. 

Then there he was ... "The Monk" to his mates.

We had met while wasting time awaiting a seat in Nuke School, then we had been in the same class -- 60-1. He and I, along with an ex-BM (all PO2's with me the only SS in the group), became inseparable. The Monk was a riot when he played straight man to Sampson the ex-BM, especially after a trio of Depth Charges each. Sampson would do a slow burn as the Monk turned a joke on him and we laughed like a couple of school kids, not macho submariners. Christ, he was a funny guy. That winter we mostly hung around "Nick the Greek's" on State Street during weeknights. Some weekends me and the Monk would go home to his parents in Naugatuck, Connecticut. They were nice people, but life had not been kind to them. They had lost their youngest child to Cancer and the Monk was their oldest.

The last time I was over with him, school was coming to an end and it was a June night on Bank Street. The Monk was going to Windsor Locks with me going to West Milton for prototype training. We went up to the "Six Guineas and a Ghost" Night Club (Lamporelli's to some of you) but not much was going on. We were a bit somber and couldn't even piss-off Sampson. We went to "The Tropics" down the street where it wasn't any better, but where we saw (at that time) the ugliest woman in the world. So, with Sampson going off alone, me and the Monk decided to go back to the barracks, it was just one of those slow nights. The Monk always talked about how he wanted to get his Dolphins and I used to tease him by rubbing mine. I had a pair of rare and coveted "pin-on's" (heavy with sterling) which I used to frequently rub in the noses of the "two-prong" wearers.

We started back sitting silently in the Monk's '59 Chevy convertible. I guess we were three sheets to the wind, because when a popular song "The Green Fields of Summer" played on the radio we both began to sing along. I can still remember some of the verse -- "Was so good to be young then, to be close to the earth, and to be by your wife at the moment of birth. The green fields of Summer are calling me home." Being overcome by a strong sense of camaraderie, the Monk said he couldn't wait to get qualified so he could wear the Twin-Dolphins. Just as overcome, I told him that I would give him his first pair.

I unpinned my own Dolphins and offered them to him. Looking like a child being offered ice cream by a stranger, he shook his head - no. I held them out a second time. Beaming he nodded - yes. I couldn't pin them on him, he didn't rate them yet, but the occasion needed a pinning so I pinned them in the center of his dash board, just above the radio. They didn't look bad there either. When we parked the car the Monk said, "they'll stay there until I can wear them," and we shook hands. I think that was the last time that we were over together.

The Monk left a young wife and a baby boy behind. It's been a long cruise for the Monk and his mates. Perhaps my sterling silver pin-on's are down there with them.

The ancient Greeks believed that so long as a man's name was spoken on Earth, he would be immortal. Over the years, while contemplating my own mortality, I've compiled a list of some mates, both submariners and skimmers, who are now part of the great mystery. Now, alone with a heavy crystal glass, double-shotted with Scotch Whiskey, with appropriate ceremony and respect, I toast each one aloud.

http://www.thresherbase.org/the-men.html

"... all I ask is a haughty tale from a jaunty fellow rover, a long sleep and a sweet dream when the long trek is over ..."

Benny