Down Ladder !
by Gil Frydell, USS Sea Cat, SS-399Of course, we submariners all remember the routine of yelling "Down ladder!" before climbing or sliding down the ladder from conn to control or to or from somewhere else. That warning -- after you had verified the course was clear -- gave you the right of way. It probably didn’t take any of us long to absorb such things into our systems so we knew what to do for certain specific situations.
If you weren’t mindful of the rules, you could have found yourself almost all the way down the ladder into the after battery from topside just as one of the mess cooks swung a wet swab your way. Or you might find yourself stepping into a bucket of some oily mess one of the enginemen was about to haul up topside. I’m sure some such things had occurred on the U.S.S. Sea Cat (SS399), a fleet snorkel submarine based in Key West, Florida.
Also, it is noteworthy to let non-dolphin wearers realize that the world of submarining is really the tight fit camaraderie of men of different ages and backgrounds. Our skipper, Cdr. J.J. Kelley, was of course the skipper, a well-engineered and educated man capable of leading our combined forces through the undersea realm, effectively fighting any declared enemy of our country. He was also a good friend, who – for instance – regularly joined together with some of the crew at the local hot rod club. A year after I would later leave the Sea Cat, he again proved to be a loyal guardian of maintenance of the integrity of my personal offering to the Navy in a way certainly far above any normal expectation. All in all, virtually every submarine commanding officer aligns with his crew: not just above the men.
This Sea Cat sailor was about to move down into the control room from the conning tower one day while we were underway. I peered down intently into control for a few seconds to be sure the way was clear. Then I yelled the commanding phrase, "Down ladder!" as I planted my shoes on the edge of the ladder and slid straight down . . . till I was sitting directly on the Captain’s head!
The skipper happened to be sitting on the stool affixed to the aft port leg of the control room table directly over the compass, and as the boat rolled one way, his stool swung over till he was directly beneath me. I climbed up a mite, then I continued down into the control room. The Captain’s eyes met mine directly, and he calmly said to me, "Frydell, I’ll bet that’s the farthest you’ve had the Captain’s head up your ass since you’ve been on the boat!"
After we both snickered a mite, I continued on to my intended destination, thinking to myself, "Boy, I sure am glad I’m not on a tin can! I’d probably be on report now."
Ó Gil Frydell
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