Guest Blogger #22
When I asked Larry Simoneaux to guest blog, I told him I was looking for a specific sea story, which is like looking for a specific grape in the produce section. I'm sure he's published hundreds of them, in one form or other, over the years.
So he sent me three to choose from, and gave me the option of running all three. So my thanks to Lar, and here's #3.
Sea Daddy
By Larry Simoneaux
Steve Clark was my “Sea Daddy”.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a “Sea Daddy” is an experienced officer who, in a moment of pity, takes a young officer under his wing during the period when the young officer is dumber than a mud wall and about half as useful.
Steve was the Chief Engineer on the U.S.S. Capodanno. Big job on any ship. If it didn’t go boom, make echoes in the water, or put electrons into the air, it was Steve’s to fix.
He might’ve been the mold for Chief Engineers. Sloppy uniform. Flashlight in the back pocket. Cigarette going. Coffee cup to hand.
The Capodanno was a destroyer. It was built during the reign of Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara. Mr. McNamara knew destroyers as a chimpanzee knows plasma physics. It showed.
The Capodanno had one screw, one rudder, two boilers, and was noisy as hell. On a good day, going downhill, it might do 25 knots. There are no hills at sea. Mr. McNamara was unaware of that also.
Our job was to protect carriers from enemy submarines. The problem was, whenever a carrier got nervous about a sub being in the area, it could crank on well in excess of 35 knots. If you do the math, that meant – in very short order – we were soon the only ship (target) in the area.
What we were was bait. (Good sentence, huh.)
We figured the “ops weanies” back at headquarters would assign one of our attack boats (a nuclear sub) to secretly stay with us. Since the carrier would be gone, a frustrated enemy sub would probably pot shot us out of spite. By so doing, she’d reveal herself to our attack boat, which would then bag the bad guys.
For us, as they say in the Spanish Navy, “El Tougho Stuffo.”
I was the Naviguesser. I shot stars. I also stood watches, made dumb mistakes, and got chewed on by the XO - your basic job description for young officers in any service.
Steve, on the other hand, looked like he might’ve welcomed Noah aboard the ark by saying, “Storm coming, Skipper. Wanna’ get her under way?”
One night, I was standing the mid-watch (midnight to 4 AM) while futzing around south of Cuba. There were at least 12 ships on radar and a whole bunch of small craft that could be seen by the naked eye.
By my radar plot, three ships had a CPA (closest point of approach) at about the Captain’s bunk and sorting the traffic out was turning into a royal snafu. The radio calls went about as follows:
“Large vessel 18,000 yards on my starboard bow, this is the U.S.S. Capodanno on your port bow”
“Vessel calling, are you talking to us?”
“No, he’s talking to me. I’m the vessel just south of you if you’re the vessel astern of me.”
“Who’s me?”
“You are.”
“I am?”
You get the picture.
Add to this the fact that some officers on merchant vessels were known to set a course for the night and then turn the watch over to “Iron Mike” (the gyro steering unit). Once “Mike” took over, they’d retire to a quiet corner of the bridge to check their eyelids for light leaks.
This night, the situation was a real mess. With distances diminishing and confusion escalating, I was well and truly wondering what made me give up my job at the A&P Food Store.
Enter Steve.
He took a look around, checked the radar, and asked me, “Well, Stud, how you gonna unscrew this one?”
My answer was something about rules of the road, radio calls, and a lot of other stuff I’d read in the Watch Officers’ Guide.
“Don’t think so. By that time, we’ll be posing for group photos on the bow with the officers from the closest three ships you have plotted.”
He called me over to the radar.
“See that dark spot on the scope.”
“Uh, yes.”
“Well, why don’t you crank on ‘All Ahead Bendix’ and head for it.”
(The Bendix Corporation used to make engine order telegraphs. There’s an old story that, in a moment of panic, an officer pushed the telegraph handles down so hard, they went past “Flank” and came to rest on the manufacturer’s name.)
“What?”
“Dark spot equals no ships. No ships mean no collisions.”
“Oh.”
“And call the Captain. He gets nervous when he feels us going to full speed in the dead of night.”
I did so.
The Captain soon came to the bridge and I briefed him on what I was doing. He saw Steve and wandered over to him.
I couldn’t hear everything, but I knew my backside was being protected from the Mother of All Butt-Chewings.
As he passed me on the way back to his bunk, the Captain said, “Looks like you’ve been adopted. Try not to embarrass your Sea Daddy.”
I behaved for the next 25 years.
10:55:22 AM 
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