Interior decorations, individual bed lamps, soft indirect lighting, and a variety in color and texture of furnishings is the latest thing on Uncle Sam’s postwar submarines.
Regardless of what the old time submariners, veterans of the “Pig Boat” submarine of yesteryear, might think, Uncle Sam is not pampering his chosen few in the submarine service.
“To the contrary,” declares the head of the Color Vision Section in the U.S. Navy Medical Research Laboratories at New London, Connecticut, “these things are all helpful in preserving the mental balance of the crews, and in maintaining efficiency under increasingly stressful work conditions resulting from technological advancements.”
With the pre-snorkel “Fleet Type” submarine used by the American Navy during World War II it was necessary to surface during the comparative safety of night and recharge batteries. The post-war submarine of today is approaching being a true submersible, for with the exception of the projecting snorkel it remains hidden beneath the surface for the entire length of the patrol. Hence the snorkel has eliminated those few precious hours the crews had to go “topside,” escaping their steel prison for a glimpse of the sky and the smell of fresh air.
Submarine crews are now unable to escape the steel shell that surrounds them. They are subjected to the deadly monotony of the same faces, the same tasks, and the unchanging scenery of pipes and machinery. Technological changes are a necessity, but what reaction to the crews shut off from normal living and sealed within the steel hull does medical science expect?
It has only been since the ending of World War II that the snorkel has been used on American submarines. The Germans during World War II used the snorkel under combat conditions. From captured German medical files, American medical research scientists have learned something of the problems encountered by them.
One German doctor conducted body weight tests on crew members and discovered that average weight loss was 18 to 20 pounds during one patrol. This loss in weight was accompanied by a corresponding decrease in efficiency. By the seventh week of the patrol the crew had reached a state of extreme irritability, quarrelling and cursing to the detriment of discipline. Men became sunk in a despondent lassitude occasioned by the monotony of their environment. Faces assumed dull expressions. Manual skill showed marked deterioration. Restful sleep was impossible.
The modern submarine of today is a mechanical marvel combining the noise of a boiler factory with the intricacies of a fine watch—an elongated cigar-shaped steel cylinder the length of a football field; coated with black outside and painted a glaring white inside; lighted with incandescent lamps that hang ineffectually from the overhead leaving the corners a shadowy mystery; lined with pipes that are filled with fuel oil, compressed air, water, lubrication oil, and hydraulic fluid; its crew’s sleeping bunks wedged between deadly torpedoes; the cooking and messing facilities occupying no more room than can be found in the kitchen of an average home; and the crew of over seventy men living and working in quiet efficiency under conditions that would make a New York City subway at rush hour seem spacious. To transform this atmosphere to an acceptable environment that will psychologically soothe the crew is the present problem of medical scientists.
Even before the advent of the snorkel, submarine “skippers” noted the reduced morale of their crews on prolonged patrols. This was generally acknowledged to be an unfortunate occupational disease. Except for morale boosters such as phonographs, books, and ice cream makers, little was done to make the submarine more habitable.
In 1944 the commanding officer of the U.S.S. Haddo tried to improve the “All pipes and no plush” appearance of his ship. Working with color and lighting effects, he soon had the “pink and purple” Haddo the talk of the submarine service. But with results; morale definitely improved on Haddo.
These results led to experiments carried on independently by other submarine captains. In the spring of 1949 reports from all of them were assembled by Commander of Submarines, Atlantic Fleet, and turned over to the Medical Research Laboratories at the Submarine Base, New London, Connecticut.
With the assistance of Bureau of Ships, the U.S.S. Cutlass was selected to be the first submarine “guinea pig” to undergo a really comprehensive decoration project. A group of civilian experts in illumination and color were appointed on the advice of the Illuminating Engineering Society and Inter- Society Color Council.
The advisory committee was charged with the task of recommending “designs, colors, and materials for improvement of submarine compartments as regards visibility, ease of seeing, comfort and habitability, and toward promotion of a livable, pleasant, and secure atmosphere for the crew.”
“Operation Rainbow” was born, and work began at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in May of 1949.
The Commanding Officer described an approach by the experts to create an illusion of comfort in a steel shell with its pipes and noisy machinery.
“What we did to Cutlass is simply to increase her ‘livability’ through the medium of color and lighting. The compartments are painted in three different grayed colors, resulting in each compartment possessing a subtle difference from its neighbor. This is not a drastic change, but sufficient to register on the unconscious level, thus providing a constant feeling of variety.”
Grey may appear to some as a dull color, but over fifty samples were considered by a score of experts before a final decision was reached. The three shades selected were green-grey, yellow-grey and medium grey. Each compartment was completely painted in one of the green or yellow greys and the machinery in medium grey. Torpedoes, ladders, clocks, fans, lockers, and electronic equipment are painted in the same color. This is contrary to the old scheme of things where such objects were left the color that the manufacturer had painted them.
“To make a submarine’s interior inconspicuous all surfaces should be painted the same color. To prove this stand five feet from a solid colored wall, after a few minutes place a black object at eye level on the wall and see how much closer the wall seems to be.”
Walking from one compartment to the other you are not aware of any change in color. This is desirable, and brings a pleased smile to the skipper’s face.
“The compartments could have been painted in blues, red, or greens,’-’ he said. “But strong colors are stimulating, and a stimulant causes fatigue. Also the crew living in these compartments for weeks on end would soon lose all awareness of these colors. The greys, being more subtle in their approach, continue to register on an unconscious level. The change from green-grey to yellow-grey provides a constant feeling of variety, thereby relieving the monotony.”
To the casual visitor not familiar with the interior of other underseacraft, Cutlass may seem something of a disappointment. This is particularly so when they visualize the warm and startling blend of colors as used in home decoration. Even some crew members complain that they “don’t see much difference from the way it was before.”
“As a matter of fact,” the Commanding Officer says, “this is a carefully laid plan for it is the unconscious reactions to the green and yellow greys that we desire on submarines. Decorating the inside of a sub,” he continues, “is a difficult job. Submarine crews serve for months without seeing anything but the inside of the ship. We aim to acquire a sense of obliviousness of their environment in the men, to make them forget they are living inside of an oversized pipe.”
The crewmember who can’t see any difference in the ship now is very likely a less frequent visitor to the ship’s medical locker with complaints of eye-strain and headaches.
However neither the bluejacket nor the civilian visitor can be blamed entirely for his views. Expert lighting and color designers have difficulty in realizing that the whole basis of submarine decoration is to achieve a sense of forgetfulness: to disguise the fact that the men are living in a barrel.
Assisting in the accomplishment of this scheme is lighting. In most compartments lighting must be acceptable, at one and the same time, for work, recreation, and sleep. Power is limited, and too many lights may mean a low battery when the reverse situation is direly needed for combat. Also too many lights frequently mean too much heat.
The problems of lighting were met by the use of bed lamps that allow the “Off Watch” crewman to read without disturbing his sleeping shipmates. Flesh colored lights are used in recreation areas to add a healthy looking tone to the faces of the men. To accomplish a change of pace, lights are high in one compartment for a period of time and then low. Many small intensity “spot lights” are used for local control on significant gages instead of a few high intensity lights. Lighting is indirect and comes from the bulkheads, creating a sense of space and depth to the narrow compartments.
It is psychologically true that we all feel better when surrounded with those things that we are familiar with. This principle has been used on Cutlass at every opportunity. The decks are covered with a brown linoleum tile that helps to lend an illusion of comforting earth beneath, instead of the cold sea. Table tops are wood treated with plastic, such as can be found in any home. Seats are upholstered in plastic rattan similar to that used in the street cars and buses of the submariner’s home town. Bunk covers in the crew’s quarters are a fire resistant plastic, colored green-grey to blend with the paint scheme. In the officers’ quarters, curtains and bunk covers are a warm maroon that harmonize with the wood paneling in the passageways. The whole effect is similar to that found in a home. Only in colorful ash trays or books which can be put away is there any clash with the color scheme.
“It’s true that Cutlass is an experiment, but she’s still the forerunner of submarines to come,” her skipper says, adding, “Decorating Cutlass was something like decorating the inside of a machine shop.”
Technologists promise that the submarine of tomorrow will be a highly complex and versatile craft. What problems these new types may present remain to be seen. But in this cycle of machinery versus the human element, Americans can rest assured that in the race our own scientists, both technical and medical, stand ready to present the best in equipment and care to the submariner, a leader in his dangerous profession of safeguarding our democracy.