On Submarines and Farts

[Willin']

It’s springtime, 1975 and the 685 boat is steaming north from the USVI bound for TOTO. Just commissioned the previous December, SSN 685, USS Glenard P. Lipscomb, is the newest nuclear attack class submarine in the US Navy. It’s keel had been laid in the same shed as, and only 6 months ahead of the first two 688 (Los Angeles) class attack boats.

The 688s were going to be the biggest, baddest, fastest and quietest attack boats ever built by anyone anywhere. The only problem was the designers couldn’t agree on a propulsion plant. Some felt the latest generation turbine reduction plant would do the trick, others felt the turbine-electric plant first built to power USS Tulibee, SSN 597, could be expanded to drive the much larger and heavier 688s. Tullibee was a smaller boat that was designed as a sonar platform and until now had been the quietest nuc in our fleet.

Enter the 685 boat, whose sole purpose was to test the new, enlarged turbine electric driven propulsion plant, and presumably, if successful, continue on as a one off fast attack boat.

To that end the 685 was designed to very similar dimensions, shape and weight as the 688s and with only a few months head start on them the race was on to prove the new plant’s capabilities.

Initial sea trials in the north Atlantic had gone as per usual and the boat had proceeded south to receive some final tweaks and go through the scheduled sound and speed trials. Things were proceeding well until we made port in Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico, where we were scheduled to have the hull degaussed.

The procedure involved wrapping the hull in wire from dome to rudder, inducing electricity through said wire and spinning the boat in circles on it’s own axis to lose the magnetic signature it had gained being built in the shipyard at Groton. Things went bad here. The boat was towed out into the turning basin in Rosey Roads, where the Emergency Propulsion Motor, a small podlike drive unit that usually lives retracted into a main ballast tank, was deployed. It could push the hull up to about 5kts and was designed as an emergency measure if main propulsion goes down.

Apparently bathymetry in the harbor wasn’t current and the EPM struck the bottom bending it’s deployment shaft slightly such that it wouldn’t retract fairly into the hull. This was not good, made a potential source of turbulent flow and thus noise, and had to be repaired quickly while in RR. The CO was not happy as this boat was under intense scrutiny from the SecNav and CNO all the way down. He really wanted this problem to go away, and quickly.

I was one of 3 ships divers involved in measuring, making drawings, implementing and observing various attempted repairs and we were kept very busy for the 2 weeks it took to come up with a fix. During this time we also discovered some damage to the bottom of the rudder and spent additional time measuring, drawing and describing that, a difficult job because there was only about 18” of murky water under the rudder while at the dock. The Captain’s mood got even worse and pretty much no one asked for liberty until things got fixed.

Fortunately, it was determined the rudder damage occurred while in the floating drydock at Electric Boat in Groton and they would have to repair it there upon our return, so after the EPM repair was completed we continued onward to St. Croix where we had a pleasant 3 weeks of daily ops out of Fredriksted, each evening returning to the large pier there and each morning 1/3 of the crew got a day of liberty ashore.

The job here entailed each morning getting underway, going out about ¼ NM off of the pier, diving (St. Croix, being surrounded by very deep water, had steep sides so we didn’t need to transit far to get the minimum 100 fathoms under our keel needed before diving), and making several passes back and forth on a sound range operated by Raytheon. The object was to start and stop various equipments to determine noise sources, correct them and determine what the optimum quiet condition might look like before heading north to Tongue of the Ocean, a very deep, very little trafficked and hence quiet sound in the Bahamas, where we’d find out how fast and quiet this baby actually was. The daily ops proceeded with no major upsets, the Captain’s and XO’s moods lightened and the crew relaxed and enjoyed some much needed R&R.

Incidentally, only a few years before us, USS Sturgeon, SSN 637, conducted similar testing at the range at St. Croix, having just come out of a yard overhaul and having to verify that they hadn’t developed any weird new noises. Apparently there was a mis-communication over the underwater phone and no one told Sturgeon one particular run was over and they accidentally ran into St. Croix, crushing their sonar dome. I ran into an old shipmate from my time on Dogfish a while later who told me the story. He was Chief of the Watch on the Ballast Control Panel when they hit and got into some trouble for initiating an EMBT (Emergency Main Ballast Tank) Blow before getting the order from the OOD or Dive Officer. He said he just picked himself up off the deck, hit the Blow button, sat back on his stool and waited for the turbo feces to fly.

St. Croix suffered no visible damage.

I know, I promised a sea story and I swear, I’m getting there. Be patient, it required a little forestory to fully develop the mood and I’m on vaycay for a while and will continue when I’m not busy having fun.

Here are a few pics of Tullibee, the original turbine electric driven boat (the one with the weird sonar appendages) and Sturgeon to tide you over…

Tullibee

Sadly, I can't find the pic of Sturgeon's crushed bow, so this pic of an EMBT blow from test depth will have to do...

 

[Dervish]

Interesting. I only spent a week on board one while a midshipman at USNA. As mids, we were sort of brainwashed into thinking that you could only go the nuke route if you were in the upper crust elite that were superinteligent and willing to tolerate Rickover's shenanigans.

A guy worked for me who was in the nuclear program and was interviewed by Rickover.

IIRC he entered, reported, and stood there for several minutes while Rickover ignored him. Don’t recall any questions he was asked.

 

[Willin']

Well, it's a rainy early Puerto Rico morning and I've got all this caffeine in me, so here's today's ramblings.

Incidentally, our condo is only 10 miles from the site of the former Roosevelt Roads Navy Base. We're gonna take a drive down memory lane later this AM!

Perhaps I was feeling a little cocky upon my being assigned to the Pre-Commissioning Unit of the GP Lipscomb after graduating Sonar Tech A School in Key West, having already served aboard a diesel boat, USS Dogfish, on which I was part of the de-commisioning crew, and now was joining a pre-comm unit. Perhaps it was due to the looser social standards between officers and enlisted we enjoyed on the stinkboats (for instance, Ltjg Poro we referred to as 4.0 Poro or Sweaty Eddie on the boat’s softball team, Lt Santulli was jovially known as Crash Santulli due to the pronounced leftward bend he put in Dogfish’s bow during a docking incident, and Lt Englemann was just Crazy Bob socially) so maybe I was perhaps a little less respectful to the XO than I should have been when I submitted my first non-vol chit shortly after checking in.

When I’d completed basic training, the submarine service was promoted as a 100% volunteer service, although how I wound up a bubble head actually involved a little career counselor skullduggery, so technically I was within my rights to submit that first non-volunteer chit, which informed the chain of command that I no longer wish to volunteer for submarine duty. The chain at that time, as the entire crew and ward room had not yet been assigned, was my Sonar Chief and the XO, and the chit promptly came back denied.

Next month I did it again, this time with the new Sonar officer’s signature affixed, still denied. When my third chit, now with the new Weapons officer’s name on it as well, came back denied my Chief sat me down and said due to the new 688 class of boats being ordered, the Navy was short on submariners to man them and was not allowing non-vols anymore, plus the XO was all over his ass about it so if I was wise I’d knock it off.

Next month I submitted a change of service request, wishing to be transferred to the Coasties. The CG manned a lighthouse in Watch Hill, RI and I fancied myself riding out my enlistment in comfort instead of in a steel pipe, and checking out the point surf that broke along the lighthouse breakwater. The Weaps officer told me the XOs chin actually quivered with rage when he handed that one over.

The mutual dislike continued just below the boiling point for several months until the XO, through my Chief, proposed that he would approve my attending scuba diver school and becoming a ship’s diver (which I really wanted) if I would take the test to advance to Third Class Petty Officer (E-4), which I really didn’t want. I was a happy seaman and had no intention assuming un-necessary responsibility. What I wasn’t supposed to know was that as soon as I got my stripe the XO intended to force me to stand belowdecks watches, which I’d let it be known I was adamantly opposed to due to my abhorrence of nuclear weapons, of which I would be custodian while on this watch. No way, man!

By way of shortening this already longwinded prologue, I passed the E-4 exam, graduated at the top of my scuba school class, came back to the boat fit and tanned and when the XO came to me with the paperwork to get me certified Belowdecks Watch we went through and signed all the papers one at a time until he slid over my hole card, the Personnel Reliability Program, which upon volunteering for and signing required, among other things that I must spy on my shipmates and if I witness them doing anything illegal or unprofessional, such as use illicit drugs, alcohol abuse, or other questionable behaviors which might throw their reliability to handle nuc weapons in doubt, I must report them to authority or suffer consequences if it was discovered I failed to do so. Volunteering for the PRP was required in order to stand Belowdecks Watch.

“Voluntary, XO?” “That’s Charlie, Petty Officer Willin’!” “No thanks, sir, I’m done volunteering.” I then saw the famous chin quiver first hand and up close as I pushed away from the table and left the Ward Room. “ By your leave then, sir.”

So… I suffered a bit for that, I was ordered to stand midwatches topside while in port for the duration, a cold and miserable place to have to be during the long Connecticut winter night, and assigned the position First Lieutenant, which didn’t come with any rank, and which I imagine was meant to force responsibility on me against my will by my running the roughly 6 man Seamen Gang and being responsible for the appearance and preservation of the hull above the water line, but which didn’t turn out to be the punishment he thought it was.

So, with this bit of forestory, or is it backstory, I’m not even sure, let us carry on with the sea story. Remember the sea story? It’s supposed to be a sea story!

Here was Lipscomb just moments before she slid down the ways. I'm standing somewhere topside.

 

[Bugsy]

Incidentally, our condo is only 10 miles from the site of the former Roosevelt Roads Navy Base.

Thanks, Willin'

I spent about a week in Roosie Roads in about 1990 when the ship I was serving in made a port visit. I had my bike with me on the ship and I went on a very long bicycle ride up and over the El Yunque (?) rain forest. It rained. There was a bridge washed out and I had to carry my bike about 100 yards through a ravine with a river at the bottom.

I also remember a very nice officer's mess in RR.

There was also some deal about the base commander living in a huge house and hosting croquet tournaments on the lawn at this house. I stayed away from all of that.

Your story is infinitely better!

 

[Willin']

Thanks, Willin'

I spent about a week in Roosie Roads in about 1990 when the ship I was serving in made a port visit. I had my bike with me on the ship and I went on a very long bicycle ride up and over the El Yunque (?) rain forest. It rained. There was a bridge washed out and I had to carry my bike about 100 yards through a ravine with a river at the bottom.

I also remember a very nice officer's mess in RR.

There was also some deal about the base commander living in a huge house and hosting croquet tournaments on the lawn at this house. I stayed away from all of that.

Your story is infinitely better!

That's a hell of a ride! I don't know how you kept your legs being onboard a ship... oh wait, skimmers have gyms!

You'd be surprised how desolate the old base is now. They've pretty much let it go to the iguanas. There's a ferry terminal now and last time we were here they were filming a TV crime series in the former officer's housing area, which is pretty much all that remains.

Since it was my first Caribbean island adventure as a kid it all seemed very exotic to me back then, now it just looks desolate.

 

[Bugsy]

That's a hell of a ride!

My memory is a ride something like shown below that Google says is about 60 km / 35 miles. Is there a road through the El Junque rain forest like I recall? Or maybe there was before the bridge washed out.

I served in a ship big enough to run around the upper deck. 5 laps ~ 1 mile. There was a generous storage area for bikes. There were probably 100 bikes onboard.

 

[Pointy End]

Was the Black Angus there in P.R. "off limits" to all USN sailors back in the early/mid 70's?? I've heard some doozies about that place. Maybe it depended on the Boat. During it's hey-days, between '79 - '85, as soon as you walked in, they'd hand you an ice cold Budweiser. You didn't need a crash course in Spanish because half the "working girls" were from Florida. Our Corpsman was always busy after a visit to R.R.

 

[Willin']

Was the Black Angus there in P.R. "off limits" to all USN sailors back in the early/mid 70's?? I've heard some doozies about that place. Maybe it depended on the Boat. During it's hey-days, between '79 - '85, as soon as you walked in, they'd hand you an ice cold Budweiser. You didn't need a crash course in Spanish because half the "working girls" were from Florida. Our Corpsman was always busy after a visit to R.R.

I have first hand experience of the Black Angus AND it's local rival, the Riviera Club. It was my one night of liberty during the above described port call and I wasn't going to let it go to waste. Both were everything you heard and then some. I've only ever been in one other similar club, in Sao Luis, Maranhao, Brazil in the early 80s and I can still remember most of that night pretty clearly. The Black Angus and Riviera, not so much.

We were walking around Old San Juan (my wife and I) about 6 years ago and I asked an old street sweeper if he knew if they were still open? At first he looked alarmed that I would mention them in my wife's presence but after chatting a few minutes he said all the old bad clubs got closed down in the 90s sometime. My wife found his reticence charming.

 

[Point Break]

One of my stepsons just left a 5 year assignment in the El Junque National Forest. He was responsible for trail rehabilitation in the forest following one of the many hurricanes. His passion is preservation of trails.

 

[Laker]

Perhaps this thread should be re-labeled "On Submarines and Old Farts"

 

[Willin']

Perhaps this thread should be re-labeled "On Submarines and Old Farts"

Card carrying member of that club here.


So, where were we? Oh yeah, the 685 boat is steaming north from the USVI bound for TOTO. Not even a day out of St. Croix an alarm sounds! It turns out to be a drill, everyone mills around in response, and the drill is eventually secured and we continue on watch or go back to our racks.

Groundhog Day! A fire alarm in the engine room stirs everyone up again, later another, this time a weapons drill in the torpedo room gets us up again. On another a fire originates in the galley and later another alarm comes from the diesel gen room in the bow compartment. Each drill is an all hands evolution. The drills continue day and night, not that we knew the difference. After 4 or 5 drills in a row, with one sounded even before the last had secured, the Dept. Heads met to review/ critique in the Wardroom.

In essence, we had been a ship’s company for over a year now. Christmas parties, picnics, observing the shipyard build and intensive classroom training yes, but very little underway practical experience together. Granted, since commissioning in December we’d spent a good amount of underway time together, but no one had been tested in extremis such that every guy could trust his shipmate implicitly in every given emergency situation on this boat. Plus, roughly 1/3 of the crew had never seen sea time before arriving at this station! These drills were meant to address those issues. The Captain meant to make us a crew.

The word drifted down from higher up that in general our responses were adequate and improving. The items that most provoked the CO and needed immediate improvement were our slow response time and our improper telephone communication protocols. There was just too much friendly chatter on the phones and it took far too long for battle stations to be manned and secured. About then I took to zipping shut my bunk cover and just sleeping on top in my poopie suit and sneakers to save response time.

I don’t recall the exact nature of the drill, but I suspect it had to do with a collision alarm sounding as my station was telephone talker, middle level operations compartment, forward. My job was to secure and control the bow compartment watertight door, the bulkhead (ventilation) flappers, and be alert for flooding or other adverse conditions, which position I assumed in remarkable time.



Telephone talkers spoke on the JA sound powered phone circuit. The JA circuit was a battle circuit not used for any but essential comms during emergencies.

Upon donning my JA headset I reported… Conn- Middle Level Operations Forward Station Manned Standing By. MLOF, regardless of how wordy and time consuming, was the identifier I was expected to use when communicating on the JA battle circuit. This was the stuff the Capt. was on us about and I wasn’t gonna be the one that drew his ire.

As I said, whatever the drill was, when it was secured, just before I hung up my headset, I opened the door and stepped into the crew’s head, right next to my station, to take a leak, only to step into several inches of brown caca water! A quick glance revealed all 3 commodes were overflowing brown fluid at a slow rate and I knew immediately what was going on! Just then my buddy Dave called down from Sonar, where I was due to relieve him on watch, saying Middle Level Operations Forward- Sonar… Lay to Sonar. Yeah, yeah, I replied only using the appropriate comms language.

I quickly chained off the head door with the Closed- Blowing Sanitaries sign in place, ran back to the nearby goat locker and, on their XJA handset, the sound powered phone we used for general inter- compartmental comms, tracked down the Auxiliaryman of the watch, explained the situation and lit a fire under him to get it fixed.

Dave on the phone again, this time a little edge to his voice as I was keeping him from rack time… Middle Level Operations Forward- Sonar, secure and lay to Sonar! Sonar- Middle Level Operations Forward Aye! I replied. Next I had to locate and wake up a couple of my seamen to begin bailing/ swabbing and disinfecting the head, which none were happy about, nor were the CPOs trying to get to sleep in the goatlocker given the noise I was making on the XJA.



The commodes drain to a sanitary tank, a hard tank as it needs to withstand ambient sea pressure in order to be blown empty using 700 psi air. The thru hull valve has a back up valve and apparently both had not been securely shut after blowing and seawater had seeped back in, filling the tank and overflowing through the ball valve at the base of the commode bowls, which always leak slightly under high pressure.

In sub school they tell the story of sailors who needed to use the commode despite it being closed during a blow down. One (or more if we were to believe the stories), forgot that the tank was being pressurized and opened the ball valve to drain the bowl and literally got shitfaced. They called that the 700 pound club.

At any rate, as I immediately recognized the problem and initiated the appropriate response I didn’t feel this actually qualified as flooding that needed to be reported and so didn’t inform the Conn, which in hindsight was a small mistake.



Dave yet again, clearly unhappy… Middle Level Ops Forward-Sonar, lay to Sonar immediately! My guys had finally arrived and I was trying to explain the situation to them and I finally lost it, just for a second and in my irritated/ sarcastic voice replied… “Dave, I’d really like to help you out buddy but whoever last blew sanitaries didn’t secure the valve lineup properly and… we’re up to our ankles in shit down here!”

I knew I’d really, literally stepped in it even before the Sonar Chief came on screaming “Willin’, get your ass up here now!!!!

 

[Rasputin22]

Come on guys, everyone that I know that has ever gone to the Black Angus has always called it the 'Black Anus'... Don't ask why!

One time a group of us went to San Juan to check out the city. In the Old Town section, which is where all the tourists end up, it was pretty cool. Lots of shops and history, not to mention the numerous casinos. Old town is where all the cruise ship pull in, so it naturally caters to those folks. No trip to San Juan would be complete without a stop at the Black Angus. I won’t delve further, but it is NOT a steak house. It is not my cup of tea, but the “group” wanted to go. So I can say I’ve been there, seen that. The downstairs area is a large bar and the upstairs area…is well…I didn’t go up there so I can’t speak to it.

 

[Pertinacious Tom]

One (or more if we were to believe the stories), forgot that the tank was being pressurized and opened the ball valve to drain the bowl and literally got shitfaced. They called that the 700 pound club.

I believe more than one could make that mistake but doubt any made it twice.

 

[Willin']

My memory is a ride something like shown below that Google says is about 60 km / 35 miles. Is there a road through the El Junque rain forest like I recall? Or maybe there was before the bridge washed out.

I served in a ship big enough to run around the upper deck. 5 laps ~ 1 mile. There was a generous storage area for bikes. There were probably 100 bikes onboard.

View attachment 581690

Took a ride up there this AM. Found out too late that admission is now by online reservation only as there is so much construction going on at the top repairing hurricane damage, so we got turned around halfway up.

The map shows the road goes as you show it, but in the past you could only reach the first summit in your car then had to return the same way. Bikers and hikers may still get all the way through.

Again, that was a hell of a ride... much respect!

 

[Willin']

Come on guys, everyone that I know that has ever gone to the Black Angus has always called it the 'Black Anus'... Don't ask why!

One time a group of us went to San Juan to check out the city. In the Old Town section, which is where all the tourists end up, it was pretty cool. Lots of shops and history, not to mention the numerous casinos. Old town is where all the cruise ship pull in, so it naturally caters to those folks. No trip to San Juan would be complete without a stop at the Black Angus. I won’t delve further, but it is NOT a steak house. It is not my cup of tea, but the “group” wanted to go. So I can say I’ve been there, seen that. The downstairs area is a large bar and the upstairs area…is well…I didn’t go up there so I can’t speak to it.

I remember the girls were mostly peretty, young, Dominicans at the time and you had to defend your lap or one would come straddle it and rub her wares on you.

The answer to the obvious question was always " Fifteen and Six!" meaning $15 for the girl and $6 to rent a cubicle in a hotel around the corner. It was really strange walking hand in hand out of the bar and around the corner like young lovers, then walking back into the bar alone 15 minutes later. That's as far as my memory goes.

 

[Willin']

Here's the big finish at last.

Trudging up the steps to the control room, I’d already prepared for the weak haranguing the Chief was gonna give me. I knew what rubicon I’d crossed and despite the Captain’s displeasure, the chief was an empty shirt. The guys called him Balloo behind his back for his physical resemblance to Disney’s dancing bear. I wasn’t even dreading facing him in the Sonar room. What more could he do than give a severe tongue lashing? Especially since I was short and due to be put ashore in Port Everglades within the next month or so, to be sent back to Groton for Separations, the 2 week ordeal where they process you out of the service at the end of your enlistment. So I was drawn up short upon entering Sonar and finding both the XO and CO standing next to the Chief at the back of the room, each with a JA headset on, plugged into the spare sockets that were installed there for just such an occasion.

Crap!

The Chief’s face was blotching red and white in exasperation, the XO’s seemed to be flipping between exultation and calm. He had me, he knew it and he knew I knew it, he was gonna take me down after my getting over on him at last. It was just unseemly to gloat before the sonar gang and CO, hence his alternating facial expressions. The Captain’s face was strangely blank and as the Chief let me have it he unplugged his headset and left Sonar without a word.

The Chief dressed me down soundly, partially for being slow to secure from the drill but mostly because of my violation of telephone talker protocol. It was mainly for the benefit of the XO I’m certain, to ensure him I was being appropriately dealt with. The Chief was a toothless dog.

Meanwhile I was reviewing in my mind all the possible ways the XO could fuck with me. Since we were underway, they had few options for punishing me. They might make me a mess crank (otherwise known as scullery wench or galley hand, something rarely if ever done to a Qualified Petty Officer) but that would make the Sonar gang short handed. If we were in port they had numerous options such as NJP, extra duty, barracks restriction, base restriction, denial of my base parking permit, there were plenty of ways to fuck with me for such a petty infraction. Hopefully he won’t think up anything that might delay my Seps!

As the Chief was finally winding down he closed with something like “And WTF is with this flooding bullshit? There was no flooding or leaking reported?”

I just looked down at the puddle of odiferous fluid dripping off my poopiesuit pantlegs and gathering around my sneakers, looked back up and shrugged with a crooked grin.

“GTFOH, get changed and get back up here and clean up this shit!” The Chief shouted.

And with that I was gone!



The CO’s stateroom makes up the back bulkhead of the control room and as I stepped out of sonar I saw him through the open door, sitting at his desk. I was just skulking back toward the ladder to middle level when he turned and barked “Willin’, my cabin, now!”

Oh shit!

As I rounded the SINS binnacle I took a quick look around Control and saw almost all eyes on me. They’d all heard me on the JA. The OOD, Dive Officer, Chief of the Watch, Quartermaster, Fire Control gang, hell, even the helmsman/ planesmen. I met some of their eyes briefly. Some were grinning like “Boy, you done stepped in it now!” Others were shaking their heads, perhaps in sympathy, perhaps not. Then they all turned away and got back to work.

Slouching into his stateroom, he said “Shut the door!” without looking up at me. It took all year before he finally turned around, stood up and came over to me.

“I don’t think I have to emphasize that everything the Chief and XO said is true and correct, do I?”

“No sir.”

He then put his hand on my shoulder and for a second he just smiled! “Then this episode is closed, except that I need to tell you, when you said what you did I think the XO’s head was going to come off. The Chief was having a heart attack and I was doing all I could to not laugh out loud! That was some funny stuff!!!!! I really needed a good chuckle right about now and that was it! Well done and thanks! Now… don’t do it again!”

I was pretty well stunned, and with that he said “Carry on. This is just between you and I right?”

“Of course, sir!” As I turned to grab the doorknob he said “Don’t worry about the Chief and XO, I’ll take care of them. Now please have one of the stewards clean up this mess and the one you left in Sonar on your way down.” Looking down I saw I was still dripping that caca water everywhere I stepped.

The Sonar Chief was some pissed that I wasn’t the one to sponge up his deck!

Three weeks later the boat called at Port Everglades for supplies and I was put ashore for the flight back to the Subase in Groton. As I passed the XO on the dock for the last time I didn’t salute him.



This story is true, every bit of it. Of course, I reconstructed some of the conversations due to bad memory or for comedic effect, but there isn’t a lie to be found anywhere in there.

I learned long after I got out of the Navy that they opted for the turbine reduction power plant in the 688s. The turbine electric plant just didn’t have the oomph to push the boat to it’s intended max speed. USS GP Lipscomb was decommissioned, stricken and cut up after only 23 years in service.



A while back I joined the USS Glenard P Lipscomb Facebook page, which had several hundred ex crewmen enrolled. I enjoyed reminiscing with a few of the guys, paid respects to lost comrades and observed most of the officers that had joined chose not to participate.

One day I made a comment that was completely apolitical and yet quite a few members went off about the wuhan flu and other right wing watchwords. After a few other attempts at conversation it became apparent I had been branded a liberal and was under full attack mode regardless of the topic, so I left but not before I had learned that the plankowner CO, Commander James Caldwell had passed across the bar.

With his passing I reckon my vow of secrecy is moot. This is the first time I’ve told this story.

The Lipscomb Facebook page has subsequently diminished to 30 odd members.

 

[Pointy End]