My first job as an executive officer began in 1962, when I reported to the nuclear-powered attack submarine Scorpion [SSN-589]. Six years later she was lost in the Atlantic with all hands.
I went with a very experienced CO, Commander Norman “Buzz” Bessac, who had been the commissioning skipper. Then he was relieved by Commander Robert “Yogi” Kaufman, who was my skipper for the balance of the time in the Scorpion. It worked out well in every respect.
When Yogi came aboard, he had a reputation for being a hotshot and very professional, and he was every bit. He drove that ship like he was sort of attached to it or born with it or something. He was very competent, and he could be overriding if you let him, but he had to rely on me as the experienced guy. We deployed about three weeks after he got there, and we were out for 70 days. He needed me and he knew that, so I had an advantage.
As a member of the Skipjack [SSN-585] class, the ship was very responsive to the controls. You could put that thing into a dive in seconds, so you had to be careful what you did. Yogi Kaufman, just to demonstrate to the crew that he was in charge after he took command, went out, and the first order was to go down to periscope depth, trim the ship up. The next order was, “Take me to test depth, 30 degrees down.” People were holding on, things were coming out of the overhead. He said, “XO, get this ship properly stowed,” because there were things tucked up in the frames that came tumbling out. But he showed us we could do it, and that became standard. He got the crew’s attention.
The chief of the boat [COB] is always a key billet in a submarine. The first guy I had with the Scorpion was in the commissioning crew. The commissioning chief of the boat was an old-hand quartermaster, as I recall. When it came time to replace him, Yogi had taken over as commanding officer, and he asked, “Who’s the best petty officer we’ve got on board?”
I said, “Wally Bishop, first class torpedoman.”
“Could he handle a COB job?”
I said, “Yes, I think so.”
Well, the chiefs’ promotion list had come out, and he was on the chiefs’ list. So I said, “Let’s try him.” Then I got my chiefs’ quarters together and said, “The captain and I are thinking of new Chief Bishop.” He got unanimous approval, and so we said, “Okay, he’s the guy.” He was a great leader—a real people man, very professional torpedoman, and did one hell of a job.
We did special operations to keep track of the Soviets and make sure we didn’t get surprised. You have to be on your toes, you have to avoid detection, you have to keep up with what’s happening not only in your own area, but what’s happening in the world.
From the standpoint of having fun, Scorpion was the most fun I had in any ship, including the other XO tours. Being exec of a missile submarine is dull by comparison. So is being commanding officer of a missile submarine. It can be 70 days of professional boredom at sea.
I was detached in mid-1963, and after subsequent tours at sea and ashore, in the spring of 1968 I went to a prospective commanding officer [PCO] course. It included sessions with Admiral Hyman Rickover, who headed the Navy’s nuclear power program. He had weekly get-togethers with the PCOs. When he finished his talking on a particular point, he’d ask, “Do you agree?” Invariably, he got 13 yeses, including mine. One day he started in on how a commanding officer of a submarine should have his meals in his stateroom, not in the wardroom, so he wouldn’t become buddy-buddy with the young officers. I thought it was a dumb-shit idea. So he went along, and he got 12 yeses. He almost choked when I said I disagreed with him.
Near the end of the course I reported back to his office. I sat in my little classroom all by myself until 1600, when I was told, “The admiral will see you now.” After we talked of a few things, he said, “Have you heard about Scorpion?” This was the day she was declared missing. He had gotten a call from Yogi Kaufman, who was by then a member of the Joint Staff. Rickover was unhappy that nobody in the CNO’s office had called to tell him. He talked to me for about two and a half hours, just as human as I ever saw him.
On that occasion he felt vulnerable and introspective. I felt sorry for him. He took this very personally. He kept talking about those poor guys and those poor families and how many guys that I knew in the crew were still there. I’d been gone for over five years, and I knew five guys. Two were first class petty officers and three were chief petty officers, including the chief of the boat, Wally Bishop. The other was the chief quartermaster who served there the whole time I was there. I knew the families of those guys, so it was hard.