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Submarine Homesick Blues

Songs for the Submarine Service by Mike Fischer

When a friend introduced me to the submarine songs of Tommy Cox, it struck a chord in me. I felt the urge to do something similar, although for different reasons and from a very different perspective. Ideas for songs sprang into my head as fast as I could write them down. The only problem was the sheer effrontery of writing submarine songs when I'm not a submariner, but a little encouragement from some real boomer vets got me over that hurdle.

I played electric and acoustic guitars and 8-string bass, sequenced the MIDI tracks for "Old Ships," and sang all the vocals except the last track. I was also the recording engineer and producer. Guest vocals on "Eternal Father, Strong to Save:" on verse 2, Rick Meunier; on verse 3, Lora, Paul, and Richard Meunier. Thank you for contributing to this project!

I'm offering these songs on a CD for $12.00 (US) plus $5.00 US for postage and handling. If you are a US veteran or are currently serving, and want the disc but can't afford the price, contact me and we'll work something out. For each CD purchased, I will donate $1.00 to the USO, one of my favorite charities.

Liner notes on the CD:

I am not a submariner. I'm not pretending to be something I am not; I'm not trying to walk in the shoes of a certain Tango Charlie (although he definitely inspired this project). My message is to say "thank you" to the "silent service" vets who endured the danger, the tedium, the isolation and the secrecy, in order to help preserve the freedoms that civilians like me often take for granted. In this age when people who bash the military are somehow seen as heroes, I just want to say to the real heroes, "What you did was necessary, you did it well, and I'm glad you did it. And I'm glad there are men like you who are still doing it." This album is not a memoir, but a tribute.

I wish to thank Rick and David Meunier, brothers who served on the Simon Bolivar and the Lewis & Clark respectively, for encouraging me in this mad enterprise, sharing sea stories with me, and offering useful suggestions; Tommy Cox, for showing how it should be done; my wife, Eileen, for her patience and for the Christmas gifts of recording gear that I used to make this album; and Jesus Christ, for saving my soul and teaching me what real freedom means.

All songs are ©2008 by Mike Fischer, except for "Submarine Homesick Blues," which is a parody of "Subterranean Homesick Blues" by Bob Dylan, parody lyrics ©2008 by Mike Fischer; "Tango Charlie Revisited," which is a parody of "The Man Who Never Returned" by the Kingston Trio, parody lyrics ©2008 by Mike Fischer; and "Eternal Father, Strong to Save," by Whiting & Dykes, now in the public domain.

The Songs:

Submarine Homesick Blues
This is a parody of the old Bob Dylan song, "Subterranean Homesick Blues," written in 1965. It purports to describe a typical submarine cruise, although there was probably no such thing as a "typical" cruise. If 1965 is too old for you, then think of it as a rap. I had a lot of fun writing this one; if I'd used every idea that came to me, the song would be about 7 minutes long.
Johnny's on the bridge again, working on his dolphins,
Always standing watch when heading out and coming in.
I'm on the sound stack, listenin' to a playback,
Bunking in a hot rack on a sub, flat black.
Look out kid, they know what you did.
The Chief knows when, gonna bust you down again.
You better head for the galley, then feel the boat descend.
The man at the conn's been listenin' to the screw spin,
Calls a heading and depth, that's where it begins.
Bridge clear, hatch shut, take her down somewhat.
Listen to the scuttlebutt, gonna kick Commie butt.
Chief of the boat knows, keep 'er steady as she goes,
Now make a quick blow, orders from the C.O.
Look out kid, we're sailing through squid.
Workin' on a trim dive, looks good, high five,
Guess we all survived, can't wait 'til we arrive.
Some seem to thrive when we're sun-deprived.
You don't need a klaxon to tell you when we deep dive.
Lie still, eat your fill — no, not another drill!
Alarm horn sounds shrill, scram test, what a thrill.
Try hard, qual card gets filled, work until
You prevail, Holy Grail; join an oiler if you fail.
Look out kid, all noise is forbid.
TLD looks clear, you can serve, no fear.
Spooks checkin' new gear, they weren't ever here;
Don't get entangled, be star-spangled.
We're checkin' angles, and watchin' out for dangles.
Ahh, watch on, watch off, commence defense,
Sea's vast, learn fast, don't get captain's mast.
Carrier escort, secret job of some sort,
Eighty days of cruisin' and we're nowhere near a home port.
Look out kid, we gotta stay hid.
Never surrender, tie up at a tender,
Chance is slender you'll be a big spender.
Avoid misdemeanors, the grass isn't greener,
And keep the boat cleaner, 'cause you're a submariner!
The Deterrent Force
This is my tribute to the "boomers," the slow-moving, silent strategic-missile boats that each carried more firepower than all the bombs dropped by both sides in WWII. There was (and is) no glamor or excitement in such duty, just endless repetition and drills, months spent far from home, and the fervent hope that those missiles will never have to be fired. "They also serve who only stand and wait."
The first line, about Birnam Wood and Dunsinane, is a reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth; it was prophesied in the play that Macbeth would be king until a certain forest moved to a certain town. Our boomers take their own "forest" wherever they go, which would have really scared Macbeth.
MacBeth got scared when Birnam Wood had moved towards Dunsinane,
But we take Sherwood Forest down beneath the bounding main.
With sixteen big death angels in a boat below the sea,
We're here to tell the other side, "Hey, don't you tread on me."
Out and back, blue and gold, that's the way we go.
Seldom seen, never heard, take it nice and slow.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
Now, "Forty-One for Freedom" is the name they gave us all.
They named the boats for patriots who answered freedom's call.
We're not the silent hunters, there's no hot-shots at the conn.
We're laying low in parts unknown, until we've come and gone.
Out and back, blue and gold, that's the way we go.
Seldom seen, never heard, take it nice and slow.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
We're tested and we're ready if our nation gives the word,
But hoping that our power means a war has been deterred.
Ninety days' slow cruising in the dark beneath the sea,
We'll do our part to keep the peace and guard our liberty.
Out and back, blue and gold, that's the way we go.
Seldom seen, never heard, take it nice and slow.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
SSGN
With the end of the Cold War, four of our big Ohio-class Trident missile subs were no longer needed for national security. Rather than scrap them, they were converted into cruise-missile submarines, with an enhanced command & communications suite and extensive facilities for working with Special Forces. The song is a variation on "The Deterrent Force," just as the SSGN's are variations on the SSBN's. The words "back in black" have a triple meaning: they refer to the boats' color, to the "black ops" that they are probably involved in (but can neither confirm nor deny), and to an old song by AC/DC that spoke of someone coming back strong, seemingly from the dead, again just like the SSGN's.
They built us up as boomer boats to keep our nation free,
With twenty-four big Tridents that could all M-I-R-V.
The years went by and times had changed, retirement was deserved.
But we are still both young and strong, still we proudly serve.
S-S-G-N, Tomahawks to go.
Navy Seals drop by to say hello.
Mission was accomplished but we've got more work to do.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
Ohio was the first one, then the Michigan came through.
Florida and Georgia made it four instead of two.
We got some special weapons and some Special Forces brave.
We pack a punch that can't be seen or heard beneath the waves.
S-S-G-N, Tomahawks to go.
Navy Seals drop by to say hello.
Mission was accomplished but we've got more work to do.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
So if you think that you can mess with Lady Liberty,
One-fifty-four precision strikes is what you'll get from me.
My Seals can steal your secrets, they can take you down with ease.
You'll never know how close I am; I'm master of the seas.
S-S-G-N, Tomahawks to go.
Navy Seals drop by to say hello.
Mission was accomplished but we've got more work to do.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
The Deep-Sea Dance
This was the first submarine song I wrote. It speaks of the risky "game" of trailing hostile submarines at close range while submerged, both to gain information about them and, in the event of war, to destroy them quickly before they could launch an attack on the United States. There were more than a few collisions through the decades of the Cold War. While there is no more USSR, we can be pretty sure that our attack boats are still out there, tailing the subs of our nation's enemies.
The line about Tango and Foxtrot refers both to two dance steps that our subs never tried, and to two older, diesel-powered Soviet submarine types that our boats probably didn't spend much time following.
They were the ones, four thousand tons of a ship they called a boat.
And through the years, those volunteers played a risky game afloat.
They'd ride the tails of iron whales to see what they could learn,
And to stay alive, match dive for dive, and follow turn for turn.
Our subs, they closed our nation's foes in a game under the sea.
They'd take a chance in a deep-sea dance to keep our country free.
With sudden divin' and Crazy Ivan, it's an unsafe place to be.
They got it done, but "bump and run" is not a game for me.
It's never sweet when two ships meet, but it was a risk that's real.
The Six-Three-Nine, she cut too fine with a bump that shattered steel.
For all they knew, that Echo II had gone down with all hands.
But for all they lost, they'd count the cost, and go on with the dance.
Our subs, they closed our nation's foes in a game under the sea.
They'd take a chance in a deep-sea dance to keep our country free.
With sudden divin' and Crazy Ivan, it's an unsafe place to be.
They didn't quit, but "tag, you're it" is not a game for me.
spoken: Tango. Foxtrot. Those weren't the steps.
When far below, no light can show, and your partner can't be seen.
You must rely on the sonar guy when you dance with submarines.
Through the deep expanse, they pursued the dance, and let the others lead.
Two months' patrol can take its toll, with nothing guaranteed.
Our subs, they closed our nation's foes in a game under the sea.
They'd take a chance in a deep-sea dance to keep our country free.
With sudden divin' and Crazy Ivan, it's an unsafe place to be.
The sea is vast, but "gotcha last" is not a game,
They didn't quit, but "tag, you're it" is not a game,
They got it done, but "bump and run" is not a game, not a game for me.
The Ballad of the Curious Cat
The events in this song actually occurred, according to David Meunier, a former engineering officer on the Lewis & Clark. It is a tribute to Lt. Meunier and his men that they were able to deal with an unprecedented engineering casualty in the middle of an inspection, in such a way that the problem never recurred. They represent the US Navy's finest traditions of quick thinking and resourcefulness.
Tied up to a tender, on a break from the sea.
Keeping ship's routine, but it wasn't to be.
Boarded by a man with several stars on his sleeve,
He meant to look around and inspect where he pleased.
He brought his wife, and on top of that,
His wife brought a curious cat.
They checked out Conn and Sonar and the torpedo tubes,
But while they were inspecting, the cat made its move.
That feline made a beeline and vanished from view.
They launched a major search, and called out the crew,
Who softly whispered, "Whose idea was that?
"A submarine's no place for a cat!"
When cats are loose in boomers, dodging admiral's wives,
In Engineering, they could get 18 half-lives.
They finally caught it; what to do? They were inspired
To load it in the signal-ejector tube and yell, "Fire!"
Flew throught the air and hit the tender, SPLAT!
The cat had curiosity,
Also high velocity,
We'll say curiosity killed the cat.
Still On Patrol
Man for man, the Submarine Service endured higher casualties than any other portion of the US Navy in the Second World War. This is my tribute to the boats and men who never came home. I found multiple figures for the number of men lost; I used the number from the "official" bronze plaque of WWII sub losses, in part because it made a better lyric.
Overdue, presumed lost. Fifty-two paid the cost.
Add their names to a slowly growing roll.
World War Two submarines. Death came due, sight unseen.
They are not coming back. Still on patrol.
Three thousand, five hundred five sailors didn't come back alive.
Write them down on a clean and honored scroll.
They gave all, now they sleep in the darkness, in the deep.
They are not coming back. Still on patrol.
Depth bombs and torpedoes, mines and air attack,
Torps we launched that circled, turned and came on back.
Ramming ships and gunfire, causes yet unknown,
Fifty-two long overdue, they are not coming home.
Since that time, just a few. Thresher and Scorpion, Cochino too.
Sailing under the sea still takes its toll.
When time ends, the trumpet calls, those men will rise, one and all.
Until then, they are still. Still on patrol.
Still on patrol. Still on patrol.
Tango Charlie Revisited
It must be a heavy burden for an intelligence operator to discover the enemy's secrets, and then be compelled by oath and by ethics to never breathe a word of it for the rest of his life. But one "spook" has kept his oath and still told us some pretty good stories. This song is a parody of the old Kingston Trio song, "The Man Who Never Returned," and is a tribute to the man who inspired this whole album.
Let me tell you the story of a Tango Charlie who was serving the U.S.A.
He got dolphins on his chest, and he wore them proudly and went diving to far away.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
He's a spook who served his term (he was never here)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
Well, he listened so hard finding Soviet secrets and he�d translate what they were sayin'.
When he got a break, he pulled out a well worn Gibson, tuned it up and began his playin'.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
Any tales are unconfirmed (very secret)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
He would sing about the torpedo there in the water, or the trailing of a Yankee class,
How the Lapon, it followed that boat so closely, they could reach out and kick its� rudder.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
He's a CPO well-earned (on the Seawolf)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
Charlie's life's not so different from a hundred thousand sailors all through the U.S.N.
But we're glad he told us of his life's adventures with his guitar, his voice and pen.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned,
But be grateful he returned (blind man�s bluff, he called it)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
Oh, you veterans of subs, don't you know it's a wonder there's a troubador who knows your ways?
Buy a disc or two, show appreciation for the songs that Tango Charlie plays!
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
It's a secret, stem to stern (he can't tell you)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
No, he cannot tell what he learned.
He'll sing "Diesel boats forever," but he cannot tell what he learned.
No, he cannot tell what he learned.
Bravo Zulu, Tango Charlie?
The Hot-Rackin' Blues
An unending problem in any navy, including our own, is that sometimes there aren't enough places for everyone to sleep. When that happens, sailors have to "hot rack" it — take turns sharing a bunk, one sleeping while the other is on duty. This has never been popular and never will be. My blues-guitar playing will never be popular, either, but you get the idea.
Navy life's okay, baby. Yes, that's just what I said.
I don't mind the duty, and they keep you pretty well fed.
I got just one problem, that's where I lay down my head.
It's the same all over — 'phibs and frigates, fast attack.
They got extra crewmen, no extra space to hit the sack.
These ships cost mega-millions, they can't afford to give me my own rack.
Now my watch is over, man. I just wanna hit the hay.
Gimme just five minutes, I'll be snoring "Anchors Aweigh."
Oh, wait, there's my buddy, in my bed, he's right in the way.
Move it out, there, buddy. Haven't you got places to go?
Clear out on the double, man. Hey, here comes the C.P.O.
Sheets are warm, a little sweaty. Is this right? I just don't know.
Now a shipmate's shinin', shinin' a light right in my eyes.
Looks at me, says, "Sorry, I'm lookin' for that other guy."
Walks away and leaves me. I'm just so tired I could cry.
Don't care, I'm goin' down. I got sleep that's overdue.
Next thing I know, it's time, to get up and put on my shoes,
While my buddy's waiting his turn — we got those hot-rackin' blues.
One of a Kind
This song pays tribute to the submarines that had no sister ships. Most of them were experimental in nature; some of those experiments paid off and some weren't repeated. But the boats themselves were just as loved by their crews as the more "conventional" designs, and every Navy ship becomes unique once her crew brings her to life.
Nautilus, she was the first, and every test she passed.
Seawolf ran with sodium, but that trick didn't last.
Albacore, the shape she wore shaped all boats yet to be,
And Halibut launched Regulus and took the spooks to sea.
One of a kind, one of a kind.
Trial boats for this and that, see what they can find.
Some were better, some were not, some left the rest behind.
Boats that were a class of one, one of a kind.
There's NR-1, the little one, Rickover's special craft,
And Glenard Lipscomb, extra-long, with silencing back aft.
Tullibee was built to be a smaller fast attack,
And Triton was a radar boat with two nukes in the back.
One of a kind, one of a kind.
Trial boats for this and that, see what they can find.
Some were better, some were not, some left the rest behind.
Boats that had no sister ships, one of a kind.
Now, most boats start identical, but that does not endure.
The Navy loves to tinker, and a class is never pure.
But every submariner knows, unless he's deaf and blind,
His boat is better than the rest, she is one of a kind.
One of a kind, one of a kind.
Trial boats for this and that, see what they can find.
Some were better, some were not, some left the rest behind.
Boats that were an only child, one of a kind.
Boats that were a class of one, one of a kind.
Christmas Day
These lyrics are loosely based on a true story that happened to my friend Rick Meunier while he was serving on the Simon Bolivar. I took some liberties with the details, but the overall events are true. Yes, it's sentimental, but sometimes that's the source of our most cherished memories.
Christmas Day, what a beauty.
Wet and cold. I've got the duty.
Galley has to be warm and fired up,
In case some hungry sailor shows up.
Christmas Day on a submarine base.
I'd rather be anywhere but this place.
That's how it goes when you wear navy blue.
Kind of depressing when I'm the whole crew.
I hear footsteps, voices too.
Someone's here? Today? But who?
It's my shipmate, my buddy and friend,
With his wife and his kids. I just can't comprehend.
"Man, you're off duty, how come you're not home?"
He said, "I knew you'd be here all alone.
"That ain't right, so I thought we'd drop by,
"And give you some company (sniff) — hey, what's cookin', guy?"
We all ate Christmas breakfast right there.
Sure wasn't fancy, we didn't care.
Stayed and talked for a few hours, and then
He left a memory, when he went home again.
All my life, I will never forget
The friend who shared Christmas with me, cold and wet.
Being shipmates is good, but I find
Friendship's the one ship leaves the others behind.
Crossing the Line
This song could apply to nearly any ship, not just American submarines. It describes a typical sailor enduring the typical ceremony that happens when a ship crosses the Equator. These ceremonies are traditional and old; no one knows how they got started. They used to be a lot more abusive than they are today, but they still are nothing to look forward to. Fortunately, a sailor only has to be on the receiving end of them once.
Don't know how Neptune got on board, but he's in charge.
He brought the Royal Baby, and his belly is large.
He says I'm just a polliwog, unworthy of grace.
And all his trusty shellbacks, they'll put me in my place. Look out!
Crossing the line! I can't think of any way out.
This cruise was fine, but now I am having my doubts.
They're putting vile stuff down our throats while Davy Jones is taking notes.
It's not what I call a good time, crossing the line.
The Royal Barber hacked my hair, hope it grows back.
They made me run a gauntlet and my backside got whacked.
The Dentist put grease in my ears while Neptune just laughed.
I kissed the Baby's belly — now my lips need a bath. Bleah!
Crossing the line! I can't think of any way out.
This cruise was fine, but now I am having my doubts.
They're putting vile stuff down our throats while Davy Jones is taking notes.
It's not what I call a good time, crossing the line.
But now the rites are over and I'm mostly intact.
I'm never more a polliwog, I'm a shellback.
There wasn't much to love but there's one part I like best —
A certain snide Lieutenant got it, just like the rest. Hah!
Crossing the line! I couldn't find any way out.
This cruise is fine, I put aside all of my doubts.
And next time we are down this way, the polliwogs will have to pay.
They'll get theirs just like I got mine, crossing the line.
Old Ships
This is one song where I know what I'm talking about. It describes my feelings when exploring the museum ships in Battleship Cove (Fall River, MA). I love the chance to get up close and personal with the ships that helped make history and protect our nation. But at the same time, there's something wrong about a ship that's silent, motionless, and nearly empty. I particularly appreciate the sub veterans who sit in the torpedo room and control room of the submarine Lionfish, and tell their stories to those who will stop to listen.
I walked the well-worn deck plates of a faded man o'war.
There was no sound — I might have been the only one on board.
There should be sailors' voices, and motors' muted hums.
But silently, she waits for duty's call that never comes.
A patch of rust has broken through the layers of gray paint.
I wonder why they let her go, with no preventive maint.
They wrote her off as obsolete, she couldn't keep the pace,
And now her anchor's deep in mud; she'll never leave this place.
Old ships, left behind. Time moves on so fast.
Most are gone, some stay on, reminders of the past.
Listen, hear the echoes of her sailors long gone by.
Old ships may be empty, but their souls will never die.
An aged man in khakis, looking tired and rather frail.
This ship was home when he was young, and now he tells his tale
To tourists and their children, tries to help them understand
This old gray ship was once a proud defender of their land.
They ask if he saw action, did he ever feel afraid?
He tells of long-gone shipmates and the cruises that they made.
I see his eyes go misty with the memories, and then
His old arthritis pains him, and his thoughts come home again.
Old ships, left behind. Time moves on so fast.
Most are gone, some live on, reminders of the past.
Listen, hear the echoes of her sailors long gone by.
Old ships may be empty, but their souls will never die.
A crew can bring their ship to life, but when they all have gone,
Their echoes and their shadows stay behind to carry on.
Most ships find a cutter's torch, but a scant few are preserved,
Memorials to battles won and men who proudly served.
So if you walk those deck plates, take a moment to reflect,
And thank the aged sailor, hear his stories with respect.
Consider what this ship has done, don't let the memory fall —
A simple, fair repayment, for we're debtors to them all.
Old ships, left behind. Time moves on so fast.
Most are gone, some stay on, reminders of the past.
Listen, hear the echoes of her sailors long gone by.
Old ships may be empty, but their souls will never die.
Nautilus Ninety North
SSN 571 did pretty well, considering that the full implications of her novel propulsion system were barely guessed at when she was laid down. She was the first nuclear-powered anything in the world, and among her many milestones, she was the first submarine to pass under the North Polar ice cap. She is now a memorial ship, open to the public in Groton, MA.
In mid-January, 1955,
A ship called SSN-571.
They pulled the rods and her reactor came alive,
By order of her Captain Wilkinson.
She headed down the river, headed straight for the sea,
She signalled, "Under way on nuclear power."
A driven man named Rickover had brought it to be,
And one of submarining's finest hours.
Nautilus, ninety north! No other ship had gone there before.
Nautilus, ninety north! She did what was expected, and more.
She started breaking records everywhere she went.
A hundred thousand miles, just getting warm.
She threw off every anti-sub ship anyone sent.
The way of submarines had been transformed.
Then Operation Sunshine sent them under the blue.
They took a lengthy under-ice patrol.
In August '58, the captain spoke to the crew,
"For world, our country, Navy - the North Pole."
Nautilus, ninety north! No other ship had gone there before.
Nautilus, ninety north! She did what was expected, and more.
For near a quarter-century, she sailed on and on,
A half a million miles beneath her keel.
They spoke of decommissioning and her time was gone,
Until Frank Sheetz began his great appeal.
And now she rests in honor up in old Groton town,
She's open now for everyone to see.
A record-breaking submarine will no more go down;
She's done her part to serve our liberty.
Nautilus, ninety north! No other ship had gone there before.
Nautilus, ninety north! She did what was expected, and more.
Eternal Father, Strong to Save
The Navy Hymn needs no introduction. The two middle verses were written expressly about submariners, while the last verse is a fervent prayer for all our armed forces. Verse 2 is a duet with boomer vet Rick Meunier, and verse 3 is sung by Lora Meunier, an authentic submariner's wife, and her authentic submariner's sons, Paul and Richard.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
Lord God, our power evermore,
Whose arm doth reach the ocean floor,
Dive with our men beneath the sea;
Traverse the depths protectively.
O hear us when we pray, and keep
Them safe from peril in the deep.
Bless those who serve beneath the deep,
Through lonely hours their vigil keep.
May peace their mission ever be;
Protect each one, we ask of Thee.
Bless those at home who wait and pray,
For their return by night and day.
Lord, guard and guide the men who fly
And those who on the ocean ply;
Be with our troops upon the land,
And all who for their country stand:
Be with these guardians day and night
And may their trust be in Thy might.

Naval Gazing

(April 2009) I set out to make a follow-up album to Submarine Homesick Blues, but after six song ideas hit me, the creative flow dried up and hasn't come back. I could wait until I have enough songs to make a full album, but that might never happen. So I recorded the six songs and called it an EP, entitled Naval Gazing. If I ever get any more ideas for sub songs, I'll release an extended version. The recordings on this disc benefit from higher-quality recording equipment than I had for the first album, plus I've had more practice making recordings. This disc is for sale for $9, plus $5 S/H. As with the first album, I'll gladly negotiate a discount with service personnel and vets of all branches if need be.

None Shall Pass
This song, like "Christmas Day" on the first disc, is based on a true story that happened to Rick Meunier, although he's reluctant to tell me where it occurred.
Surfaced in a foreign sea, "swim call" was the word.
Diving off the deep end, we felt like we deserved
A break at last.
Lookouts watching out so we aren't caught unawares.
"Radar contact on the sea, looks like one of theirs
And closing fast."
He's getting awful close — do you think he'll try to board?
If he does, he's going to pay a price he can't afford!
chorus:
None shall pass! These decks are the U.S.A.
None shall pass! If you're smart, you'll turn away.
You think we're easy pickings? Think we're quite a prize?
Bud, you better think again and open up your eyes. None shall pass!
Slowed and looked us over good, really checked us out.
No help in this neighborhood, the issue is in doubt.
What does he think?
Will war break out in this place? Is this guy confused?
Small arms ready, just in case. Hope they won't be used.
We'll see who blinks.
That frigate's getting closer, he won't leave us alone.
We hear his saber rattle. We've got sabers of our own!
chorus:
None shall pass! These decks are the U.S.A.
None shall pass! If you're smart, you'll turn away.
You think we're easy pickings? Think we're quite a prize?
Bud, you better think again 'cause someone told you lies. None shall pass!
Then he left us to our cruise, finally turned to leave.
When we couldn't hear his screws, that's when we could breathe.
That was tense!
Did their captain think he's hot? Did he think he'd win?
Found out what our skipper thought. He said it was inexperience.
To any who would take us down, we have got some news.
U.S. submariners don't go down unless we choose!
chorus:
None shall pass! These decks are the U.S.A.
None shall pass! If you're smart, you'll turn away.
You think we're easy pickings? Think we're quite a prize?
Bud, you better think again 'cause you're not being wise. None shall pass!
The Sword
I wrote this song on President Obama's inauguration day. I was pacing the floor at work, waiting for an assignment and worrying about the effects of past liberal presidents on national defense, and the words began leaping into my mind, demanding to be written down. The song refers to a statement about governments in Romans 13:4 — "But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil." As of this writing, it looks like the President is not taking my advice.
America's finest heroes are standing in harm's way.
You'll be our commander, when you take that oath today.
You can lower your guard and pull us back,
Throw us away in a vain attack,
But you can't escape one simple fact, and for this truth we pray:
chorus:
The sword of America's finest has been placed in your hands.
We're ready now to fight and die, to follow your commands.
We're not a political football, or pawns in a liberal game.
Our troops and veterans only ask, "Don't bear this sword in vain."
We've heard of what you're planning. Some of it has us scared.
You've got your own agenda. We're not sure you're aware —
From Lexington to Baghdad town,
We've fought the good fight for freedom's sound.
Don't let this sword fall to the ground and leave our nation bare.
chorus
The forty-three before you, each one had his turn.
Now it's yours, and like them, you've got a lot to learn.
We know you're human, just like us.
We're only asking, "Keep the trust."
Don't dull this sword, or let it rust. When you use it, please discern —
chorus 2:
We're Army, Coast Guard, Navy. We're Air Force and Marines.
We're American sons and daughters, volunteers by many means.
We're not a political football, or pawns in a liberal game.
Our troops and veterans only ask, "Don't bear this sword in vain."
Our troops and veterans only ask, "Don't bear this sword in vain."
Non-Qual Neddie to the Rescue!
This is a light-hearted look at a NUB (non-useful body), a sailor on a submarine who hasn't yet earned his dolphins by qualifying on every critical system on the boat. Most sub sailors work hard and earn their 'phins quickly, as a matter of pride. I hope that Neddie is a work of pure fiction, but who knows? Some of you may have met him.
Intro:
Well, Neddie came from sub school and he thought he knew it all.
He came with several buddies and his friends began to qual.
But Neddie has an allergy to tests, or so it seems.
He's okay being useless, he's a hero in his dreams.
We barely left the pier when a hydraulic line let go.
The rudder's jammed in "hard a-port" against the current's flow.
The helm is not responding and she's turning right around.
We're running out of river and we'll soon be hard aground.
We never had this happen here before! Oh, who can keep us off that rocky shore?
Chorus:
Yes, it's Non-Qual Neddie to the rescue! He read about that system yesterday.
He reached and pulled a lever, and he made things worse than ever.
We stopped her with the screw and docked okay,
But somehow Neddie thinks he saved the day.
The CO took us by surprise with drills, and in the rush,
Some Ensign threw a switch that he was not supposed to touch.
The power went off-line and then the boat, she started down.
We're just above a seamount — if we hit, we all could drown!
We're headed for a dark and watery end. Oh, who can save the boat and save his friends?
Chorus:
Look out, it's Non-Qual Neddie to the rescue! He read about that system yesterday.
He reached and pushed a button, and we all said, "Thanks for nothin'."
We got some power back and turned away,
But somehow Neddie thinks he saved the day.
Bridge:
Non-Qual Neddie, you've got work to do before you're like the rest.
You've got to draw some diagrams, you've got to pass some tests.
Your dreams, they are not earning the respect of all your peers.
Your qual card, it needs filling, and you don't have twenty years.
Well, Neddie learned his lesson, it was faster than you think.
He got behind his training and they all called him a Dink.
He got his act together — he got tired of that name fast.
He buckled down and learned his stuff, and every test he passed.
He stood before his Qual Board, got okayed. He passed his walk-through's and he's made the grade.
Chorus:
No more Non-Qual Neddie to the rescue! He qualified in submarines today.
He's dreamed so long and often of the day he'd wear the dolphins.
He's done with tests, I thought I heard him say.
Too bad ORSE's are on the way.
The War Crime
I wrote this song on the same day as I wrote The Sword; I guess I was feeling political that day. There have always been problems with the VA health care system, but I became more aware of them through the experiences of Eugene Marchand, WWII vet and Pearl Harbor survivor, who was also my father-in-law. I know that what he went through is not unique, and while there has been progress recently, there is still a lot of room for improvement.
Eugene was on the Cassin on 12/7/41.
He served the Navy faithfully until the war was won.
Then he came marching home again and found himself a wife.
He worked so hard to raise six kids and loved them all his life.
As he got ever older, an unspoken debt came due.
The deal was, "If you fight for us, then we'll take care of you."
But when he needed help, he made a choice that made me mad.
He'd rather pay for private care 'cause VA was so bad.
chorus:
The way we treat our veterans is a crime.
Underfunded, understaffed, and no one has the time
To care for wounded heroes of the wars of yesterday.
It's easier to close our eyes and let them fade away.
They ran some checks on hospitals in Veterans' Affairs.
There's vermin in the bedsheets and a staff that doesn't care.
There were a few who did their best, but they were just a few.
With no help and no funding, there's not much that they could do.
And in the halls of Congress, where the budgets are approved,
They vote for VA funding and they all act very moved.
But allocating and releasing funds is not the same,
And VA is a football in some legislative game.
chorus
The old who manned a transport in the war against Japan,
The young who left his leg behind in far Afghanistan,
They gave their all to keep us free, and now their only prayer
Is that we'll keep our promise — when they need us, we'll be there.
We've got the cash to rescue companies who spent it bad,
For women raising up six children by six different dads.
But where's the help for all our wounded sons of liberty?
It isn't much they ask, for all they gave for you and me.
chorus
God help us if we close our eyes and let them fade away!
Haven't Seen the Sky
This one is a lament about the sacrifices our submariners make on a day-in, day-out basis. It starts by comparing a sub cruise to a voyage on a luxury cruise ship, but the comparison quickly falls apart. It would probably sound better if sung by someone with a country twang in his voice.
I took a little cruise a while ago.
Just me and 'bout a hundred of my friends.
No hidden charges, all meals paid in full.
Activities — the schedule never ends.
You won't believe how little this trip cost.
In fact, I didn't pay; they're paying me.
Of course, I didn't get a first-class fare.
My sleeping space, it has no balcony.
Chorus:
But I haven't seen the sky since forever.
Is it raining? Is it sunny? I don't know.
I'd love to tell by sight if it's day or night.
I only know it's stormy if we roll.
It's just another submarine patrol.
No discos, no casinos anywhere.
The dining isn't fancy, as a rule.
My stateroom is a bunk I have to share.
There's no jacuzzi, there's no swimming pool.
I can't say that I miss those luxuries.
With duty, drills, and training, who has time?
I only know we're somewhere out at sea,
A long way down beneath the bounding brine.
chorus
They told me, "Join the Navy, see the world."
From here, there isn't much that can be seen.
It's kind of dark five hundred feet below,
And there's no windows on a submarine.
I'm down here with a live atomic pile,
Big weapons and some guys as down as I.
I haven't seen my lady in a while.
I wonder if she's looking at the sky.
Chorus:
'Cause I haven't seen the sky since forever.
Is it raining? Is it sunny? I don't know.
I'd love to tell by sight if it's day or night.
Two months is more than long enough to roam.
I wish this submarine was going home.
Under the Ice
Once the Nautilus showed the practicality of long cruises under the Arctic ice pack, our boats (and the boats of other nations) began exploring a part of the world where no one had ever been before. In spite of all our technical sophistication, it still takes some old-fashioned courage to dive under a thick layer of ice, knowing that if the power fails or something else goes wrong, no help will be available.
Engineer, keep the neutrons flowin'.
We can't get stuck where we're goin'.
Losing power here would not be nice.
Sound, tell us when we should be slowin'.
Just ahead, is the deep ice showin'?
Trusting you, trusting your high-tech device, under the ice.
Maybe hunting science rumors.
Maybe hunting the bad guys' boomers.
Maybe on some civilian genius' advice.
Somehow everything seems colder.
Going here, you must be bolder.
Plot your course, go slow, and then roll the dice. Under the ice.
A world where waves don't wash against the shore.
A world that never sees the light of day.
A world where men had never gone before,
Until the Nautilus had showed the way.
A world where submariners know the score,
And no one else can ever come to play.
Take a day to initiate those
Who never got their Bluenose.
Wet and cold, you don't have to do it twice.
We could surface, it would be dandy
If a polynya was handy.
It's quiet ... up through the ice. From under the ice. Under the ice. Under the ice.

Cruise Control

(September 2009) Just a few weeks after I finalized "Naval Gazing," I was suddenly hit by the idea to musically describe an entire submarine cruise, from start to finish. The audacity of the concept took me aback, but once I finally started, the ideas poured out like water (salt water) — I wrote ten sets of lyrics in one day, which has to be some kind of record. This disc is for sale for $12, plus $5 S/H. As with the first album, I'll gladly negotiate a discount with service personnel and vets of all branches if need be.

To Sea Again
In this song, I tried to capture the mixed feelings of starting a cruise. The first line recalls the old folk song "Leavin' On a Jet Plane."
Bags are packed, I'm ready to go, a jet-black submarine.
Kissed the wife and kids goodbye, a bittersweet scene.
Salute the watch and ensign, too, crossing o'er the brow.
Leave my freedom on the land; this boat owns me now.
Chorus:
To sea again, to sea again, that's how it has to be.
Be brave 'til when I'm back again — I'm headed out to sea.
Stow my gear and greet my friends, get the new guys' names.
Check my duties with the chief, guess it's about the same.
Take a fast cruise at the pier, check all systems out.
Once we leave, they have to work and we can have no doubt.
Chorus:
To sea again, to sea again, with volunteers like me.
I've met the COB, I'll do my job; I'm headed out to sea.
Special sea detail is set, lines are all brought in.
Now my life's depending on that HY-80 skin.
Hard a-port, ahead one-third, helmsman, hold her straight.
Down the river, past the land, to where the oceans wait.
Chorus:
To sea again, to sea again, to keep my nation free.
The life I lead is guaranteed to take me out to sea.
To sea again, to sea again, that's how it has to be.
The life I lead is guaranteed to take me out to sea.
Dive! Dive!
Unlike the old diesel boats, when a nuclear sub dives, she usually stays dived until the cruise is done. So there's something very irrevocable about opening the vents and letting the boat descend below sea level.
Putting out to sea, seeing what we'll find.
Past familiar landmarks, etched upon our minds.
Our wake is stretching out, leaving land behind.
Soon we'll leave the surface, soon we'll be confined.
Chorus:
Dive! Dive! Take her down, goodbye to moon and sun.
No more wind and sky until the job is done.
Dive! Dive! Take her down, beneath the sea we'll go.
Off to places no one on land will ever know.
Sing out, "Clear the bridge!" One last look around.
Ready on the hatch. Sing out, "Last man down!"
Now it really starts, while the boat's outbound.
There's water 'neath the keel, so we won't run aground.
chorus
Mankind wasn't built to go beneath the waves.
It's not for everyone, only for the brave.
Memories like these, they will stay engraved
In a sailor's mind, they'll last until the grave.
chorus
It's Lonely At the Top
Command of his own boat is the career goal of most submarine officers. While the walls between officer and enlisted are not nearly as harsh on subs as in other parts of the Navy, those barriers still exist, and they make the commanding officer a more remote figure than he might wish. No CO worth his salt ever asked for sympathy, though; just an awareness of his position and the enormous responsibility he bears.
The skipper. The Old Man. The guy who's in charge.
They gave him this boat; he's too good for a barge.
He's put in his time, and moved up the ranks.
Now he owns the weapons, the turbines, the tanks.
He's giving the orders and calling the shots.
What's on his mind? He can't tell you his thoughts.
Enlisted and ensigns, they don't need to know.
There's some things he has to keep from his XO.
Chorus:
They say it's lonely at the top.
There's things he can't say, that he can't give away.
They say it's lonely at the top.
It all rests on him at the end of the day.
The CO, he can't have his buddies and pals,
'Cause playing the favorites would ruin morale.
A good one will get to know all of his men,
But still there's a wall in between him and them.
If anything goes wrong while this is his boat,
Then his career's over, and that's all she wrote.
If she runs aground, hits a ship when she blows,
They won't ask whose fault, 'cause they already know.
chorus
What kind of a man would take on such a task,
And hide any doubts, any fears with a mask,
When rewards are few and the risk, it is large?
The Skipper! The Old Man! The guy who's in charge!
chorus
The Hot Rod Drivers
This was the last song I wrote, when everything else was recorded and done, because I felt like the men who deal with the most horrific risks of all deserved some kind of tribute. Here, I compare them and their "hot rods" to the landlubber's hot rod. They all know who the Kindly Old Gentleman was, and what the K-19 was, and how the first one made sure that the second one never had a counterpart in the US Navy.
In an off-limits room, they run the reactors,
Working hot rods, without any fudge factors.
The best young technicians, a personnel pool
From the Kindly Old Gentleman's graduate school.
They don't run with gas, but with steam that expands.
Their headers and valves blow away those on land.
They're less a mechanic and more engineer,
And a horn is the last thing that they want to hear.
Chorus:
They're the hot rod drivers, they keep us alive.
Keep the boat going, surfaced or dived.
The hot rod drivers, they never take five.
Power and motion until we arrive.
A Mustang or 'Vette never had such big pipes.
Precision and safety without racing stripes.
Pow'r of the atom converted to steam,
Under control of the Navy's first team.
They run very silent, there's no exhaust thunder;
No zero to sixty, but down to six hundred.
No ignition coils, only primary loops
For four thousand tons of a little deuce coupe.
chorus
"Scram" is a word that means more than "get lost."
They don't dare release any kind of exhaust.
A four-barrel carb will not work with their fuel.
Condenser and not radiator to cool.
You can't blow a valve on a big submarine.
Just ask all the crew of the old K-19.
The ones with the atoms pinned onto their collars,
They earn every one of their government dollars.
chorus
"Chow" Said Backwards Is "Ouch!"
I wrote this one for the long-suffering Navy cooks who do the best they can with limited resources, and catch flak no matter what they do. I learned a lot about this from Rick Meunier, who served as a cook on the Simon Bolivar.
They say the navy does its best for those on submarines.
They try to give us better chow than Spam and navy beans.
The cooks, they do the best they can (they have to eat it too),
But there's an old tradition in each underwater crew.
It's not a meal 'til someone lifts his voice up and complains,
"This crud ain't fit for pigs — it's just for flushing down the drain!
"The bacon's limp and greasy, scrambled eggs are full of shells.
"I think this might be ham, but I don't recognize the smell."
"If I eat that bologna, I will have to use the head.
"The peanut butter, jelly, man, that stuff could scare the dead!
"The milk is warm, the coffee's cold, the bug juice is too thin,
"And if you call that pudding, then you're guilty of a sin."
"The cheese is on the burgers so we won't see how they're burned.
"These might have been potatoes once, but they should be returned.
"The pie is growing fungus; if I eat it, I'll be ill,
"And mid-rats — that's a good name! Only rats would eat that swill."
Each cook will try to keep his nasty comebacks to himself,
But there's a vital role they play in submariners' health.
'Cause if a sailor doesn't gripe and moan about the chow,
Then check that sailor's temperature — we know he's real sick now!
Boomer Drill
I've gotten several different stories about whether or not the crew of a missile submarine would know if general-quarters was a drill or the real thing. Maybe some captains would spill the beans and some wouldn't; I think it's one of those things where "those who talk about subs don't know, and those who know about them don't talk." But we know that missile drills were a regular occurrence, and they had to be a nerve-wracking experience even if you knew no one was going to push The Button.
GQ again! I hear it and my stomach gets a knot.
The 1MC says it's a drill, but someday maybe not.
We rush to all our battle stations, check in, ready all,
And start the task that could send birds aloft with no recall.
We've done this job a time or two, but still we keep it tight.
We wouldn't get a second chance — we've got to do it right.
Our nation might depend on us; we'll do it without fear.
It's not a sane man's choice, but it's the reason that we're here.
Chorus:
Readiness renewing, sure of what we're doing.
What if this was real? This is not my kind of thrill.
Helmsman, hold her steady. Stations manned and ready,
Thankful that it's just a boomer drill.
We have to do it slicker than a greased banana peel.
They didn't say "strategic launch," we know it isn't real.
The guys I do not envy are the ones who wear a key
That they might have to turn, to start and finish World War Three.
The XO has a stopwatch, see how quick we all can get.
"We broke our older record, but the Blue crew's faster yet."
The word is given, drill is done, make everything secure.
Just one more test to show our nation's safety is ensured.
Chorus:
Readiness renewing, sure of what we're doing.
Missiles, they will rest a while, but we are ready still.
Take her down five hundred. Just in case you wondered,
This was just another boomer drill.
Thank God, it was just a boomer drill.
The Dolphins
I admit I'm fascinated by the concept of qualifying for submarines. Once you pin on those dolphins, you have stepped up into a very exclusive group where, unlike most exclusive groups, membership is determined entirely by merit. The subject has come up in several of my other songs; this one is about nothing else.
There's country clubs where you can't join except for who you know,
And frats where you get hazed until you're in.
But if you want exclusive clubs, I'll show you where to go.
We'll talk about the men who wear the 'phins.
'Cause when you're in a submarine a long way down below,
You have to trust the guy who's next to you.
And if you haven't proved that you can save his life, he knows
You're ballast on this boat beneath the blue.
Chorus:
The dolphins show you've passed the test, you're not another NUB,
And everyone who wears them will agree.
The dolphins mark you as a man who's qualified in subs,
Accepted and respected 'neath the sea.
The dolphin is an ocean-going fish, and just the same,
You can't win dolphins studying on land.
You've got to know the boat, to every pipe and every frame,
And prove it so they know you understand.
The tests and drawings that you make, each one will bring you on
And move you one step closer to your goal,
Until the day you're qualified, so you can pin them on,
The best thing you will get this whole patrol.
chorus
The flyboys with the brown shoes wear their wings upon their chest.
The SEALs, they have a badge for those who serve.
A special mark for special men who stand above the rest,
Who went beyond and earned what they deserve.
But once you've got your dolphins, you can stand up eye to eye
With anyone in any Navy crew,
For you have passed a test most other men won't even try,
A sign of someone special 'neath the blue.
chorus
Halfway to Nowhere
When you can't see where you're going, or whether it's light or dark outside, time passes differently. You have to take someone else's word for it that you're past the halfway point of your cruise, because heading home feels exactly the same as heading out.
Four weeks, three days, seven hours, give or take a few.
That's how long this boat's been cruising 'round beneath the blue.
CO told us where we're bound, but now it's hard to care.
I just hope we're going someplace better than "nowhere."
Chorus:
Halfway to nowhere, it seems that's where we've gone.
I'm not in the lucky bunch who knows what's going on.
Have we gone in circles? That might be all we've done.
Halfway to nowhere, I hope we're halfway home.
Duty, drills, and training skills, they keep me on the go.
Still, I have to wonder what we've done down here below.
Guess the spooks are doing something spooky with their gear.
Hope they know what they are doing, I've got no clue here.
chorus
Four weeks, three days, seven hours, that's how long I've been
Watch on, watch off, waiting for the action to begin.
Maybe I just missed it, maybe this is all there'll be.
Either way, I wish we'd turn and head home from the sea.
chorus
Targets
This is a strictly light-hearted look at the saying, "There are two kinds of ships — submarines and targets." I took advantage of my vocal-harmonizer pedal to switch voices from light and airy to low and heavy for the senior chief's voice in the middle of the song.
A missile man and an A-ganger were munching on mid-rats,
Sharing the last table, so they took the time to chat.
They talked of this and that and stuff, and then they got around
To talking 'bout the surface ships their soundman friend had found.
"They're only targets, nothing more," the A-gang fellow said.
The missile guy, he took a bite and then he shook his head.
"Our boats can dive, but those ships can't. It really isn't fair.
"We sneak up on 'em from below, and they don't have a prayer."
The A-ganger, he nodded, then his eyes lit up real bright.
"What if we taught those surface ships to dive, and do it right?
"With a couple dive instructors — we'd use Mark 48's —
"I know we'd teach those ships to dive, and wouldn't that be great?"
A senior chief was listening; now he joined where they discussed.
"You're dreaming if you think you'll make a target swim like us.
"I know you'd teach 'em how to dive, but those ships are so dumb,
"They never learn to surface when the diving lesson's done!"
The other two just nodded, 'cause they knew the chief was wise.
They finished up their meal with disappointment in their eyes.
You can't mix subs and targets; this is clear to any dunce:
A sub can surface; surface ships can dive... but only once!
Soundman
This is another tribute to a particular and important role on a sub. The soundman's trained ear is supplemented by computers and high-tech sound gear, most of which is highly classified, but his task is still as much an art as a science.
Guy with the headphones, he won't want to miss
What's biologic and what's a machine.
Listening to sounds in the deep dark abyss,
Watching the waterfalls flow down the screen.
Pings are for Hollywood; we wouldn't dare
Make any sound that could bring an attack.
Soundman will tell us if anyone's there,
Hunting the clues coming in through the stack.
Chorus:
Soundman, you know you're our ears and our eyes,
Tweaking your knobs with a careful adjust,
Searching the silence that's each boat's disguise,
Finding the target before he finds us.
Sound men on boomers, they just want to find
Anything out there that they should avoid.
On an attack boat, they'll sneak up behind,
ID the target if it needs destroyed.
You tell us who you think's hiding out there,
Not just his class, but his number and name.
Give us the picture while he's unaware,
One move ahead in this undersea game.
chorus x2
Off Duty?
A paradox of submarine life is that, even though you spend more time off duty than on, your spare time is harshly limited. The reference to "L-I-E-uties" is borrowed from a WWII-era song called "The GI Jive."
Now everybody knows, and so the story goes,
The navy life revolves around your duties.
But when your watch is done, relax and have some fun,
Forget the ensigns and L-I-E-uties.
Now that's a happy quote, but when you're on a boat,
And when the boat is underneath the sea,
Reality intrudes, and facts are kind of rude:
You might not be on watch, but you ain't free.
You'll soon check out the thrills of a hundred kinds of drills,
And you can bet they test us long and often.
And you'll be working hard getting sign-offs on your card
If you're a NUB and haven't won your dolphins.
You'll study for some tests if you're better than the rest
And you would like to go for a promotion.
And all the chiefs agree, you should work on a degree —
The Navy likes its scholars on the ocean.
And if that's not enough, there's lots of other stuff
Like eating, sleeping, basic sanitation,
To take up all your day while the boat is underway,
And then they'll check your badge for radiation.
So when you think "off duty," that's a concept that's a beauty.
But once a couple weeks or so have passed,
You may find that you're cruisin' for the next chance you'll be usin'
To go on watch and get a break at last!
Surface! Surface! Surface!
A nuclear sub usually will not surface until it is nearing the end of its cruise and approaching home. A sailor could be forgiven for looking forward to the triple blast of the diving alarm that means the boat is headed for the surface.
It caught me off guard, and off duty as well,
Though we were homeward bound, I was startled by that sound.
The klaxon, it rang out, three times like a bell,
It only means one thing, when I hear that triple ring:
Chorus:
Surface! Surface! Surface! It means we're almost there.
The best and final answer to a submariner's prayer.
Surface! Surface! Surface! Two months' patrol is passed,
My family will be waiting and I'm coming home at last.
We're out of our element, up on the sea.
The waves may rock us there. Just ask me if I care!
We'll head up the river, where we want to be.
The hatch will open wide, fresh air will flow inside.
chorus
It's loud and it's noisy, the klaxon in here.
It takes me by surprise, but then we start to rise.
Of all of the sounds I ever could hear,
Forget all of the rest, there's one that I like best —
chorus
Waiting on the Pier
One of the most wonderful naval moments for an outsider to watch is the homecoming of sailors who have been at sea for months. It's particularly poignant for sub sailors, who don't even get to talk to their loved ones with cell phones or e-mail while they're away. I wrote this song from the point of view of the wives and children who wait; of all the songs on this album, I wrote this one first.
They said the boat is inward bound, they're coming home today.
Rush breakfast, dress the kids, in the car and they're away.
They do not know exactly when, they'll play it all by ear,
But they don't want to miss it; they'll be waiting on the pier.
The families gather, one by one, along the built-up shore.
They greet each other warmly — most have been through this before.
There are no guarantees; some think of Scorpion with fear,
And all those families who were left just waiting on the pier.
A few are holding babies that their father hasn't met.
A few have signs with "Welcome home" and sub-boat silhouette.
A few are looking nervous, some are grinning ear to ear,
But all are looking out to sea and waiting on the pier.
A cry goes up as someone sees the boat from quite afar.
A sailor would say, "There she is!" The wives say, "There they are!"
"In just a little while, kids, your daddy will be here."
The energy is growing as they're waiting on the pier.
It seems to take forever, though the boat is making time.
They're pulled up to the docks, the tugboat stops her on a dime.
The hatches open up, the sailors in their whites appear,
And scan the crowd for that one face who's waiting on the pier.
At last the brow is put in place, the lines have all been heaved,
And long-delayed reunions happen, more than you'd believe.
We won't invade their privacy, they've earned this moment dear,
The "welcome home" for sailors and their families on the pier.
Someone's Got to Do It
As a final act of chutzpah, I'll try to explain what motivates a typical submariner to accept a life of isolation and potential danger. Obviously, everyone has their own reasons for doing what they do, but based on many conversations with veterans of all kinds, this song comes as close as anything to a decent explanation.
I'm looking back on what I spent my last two months about.
I wonder what I did it for, I have a moment's doubt.
I left my kin and friends behind for hazards unforeseen,
A-creeping 'round the ocean in a big black submarine.
Do I do it for the friendship? I could get that at the bar.
Is it just job satisfaction? There are closer jobs by far.
Is it patriotic fervor, or a chance to get away?
But now I've thought it over, there's just one thing I can say:
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Someone's got to do it. It might as well be me.
Someone's got to do the jobs that keep our nation free.
Not looking for a medal, I'm not looking for a fight.
But someone's got to do it, and I do it 'cause it's right.
I take some flak from peaceniks who think war is on my mind.
It gets real tight inside the boat; you can't get more confined.
It doesn't make much sense, this submarine life that I live,
But if you need a reason, here's the best that I can give:
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I'm looking back on what I spent my last two months about.
I'm home for now, but someday soon, I will be heading out.
And when I get my orders, I will pack my bag and go,
And if you wonder why, here's something you might want to know:
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