When my Navy ship got back from our Med Cruise in 1977, we went through downtime for leaves and refit as necessary, as we had been away for seven months. We then had to put to sea with an examining board to determine whether or not we were still combat ready. As part of this inspection, we also had a PEB (propulsion engineering board) to test us in our engineering plant and procedures.
The exam consisted of a material inspection and a watch-by-watch set of engineering casualty control drills. These drills were done to ensure that we as a watch section knew what to do in the event of a problem with one or both of our boilers.
The boilers we had were an experimental type. They didn’t utilize forced-draft blowers or fans for combustion air; they used a 13-stage axial flow air compressor or supercharger. Instead of having several burners for different firing rates, there were fixed burners, three to a boiler, that could be fired at different loads and controlled through a pneumatic control system.
The steam was produced at 1200 psi and 950 degrees of superheat. Pressure that high was used in the main propulsion turbines which drove the ship, as well as the auxiliary machinery. The superheat was needed to make sure the steam was dry to use in a high-speed turbine. When a steam turbine is turning at 1,500 rpm, all it takes is one drop of water to disintegrate the turbine blades in the machine and send razor like pieces of metal in all directions.
On this particular day, I was at the upper level of the fire-room where it was my job to monitor the water levels in both boilers. In the event of a problem with the automatic water control, I was to use the valves necessary to feed water to the boilers to keep them running. This is when the fun started.
The PEB’s chief examiner was Master Chief Boiler Technician Dustin Cram, the first chief I served under. He asked me, “What causes a de-aerating feed tank to run dry of water?” I answered with the several conditions that would cause this problem. He then asked, “So what happens if the tank runs dry?” I responded. He then pointed to the sight glass on the number 2 boiler and said, “The water just went down and out of sight in that sight glass.”
Training kicked in. I yelled, “Low water Bravo boiler,” then ran to push two buttons to close both the main and auxiliary steam outlet valves. My job was to inform the control console operator that the main and auxiliary were secured, then simulate opening the boiler safety valves to relieve the pressure and render the boiler safe.
Now, in our training, we were taught that seconds count and if there was any obstacle — human, vegetable or mineral — to go over, under, around or through to complete our task. That day there was a full commander standing where I needed to go through. He had a smug and self-assured look on his face. I was an E-5 or second-class petty officer.
When I yelled “Low water Bravo boiler,” he was in a 24-inch-wide alley that I needed to go through to hit the two buttons. I hit him like the whole front line of the Patriots offense. He flew about eight feet and landed on his back on the deck. His clipboard went airborne, his pipe flew out of his mouth and his glasses went sideways. I secured the two stops and vented the boiler, and the top watch notified main engine control that the boiler was secured.
I helped the commander off the deck and began to apologize for hitting him. His response was, “Son, don’t ever apologize for doing your job. I knew full well what could happen and didn’t think you would do it. In the last dozen ships I have been aboard and done the same thing, you are the only one who had guts enough to do your job right.”
Master Chief Cram patted me on the shoulder as I left the fire-room and said, “Well done, bulldozer.” That was the highest compliment I ever got that meant something to me.
We passed our PEB with flying colors and I gained notoriety as someone to keep clear of.
I left USS Talbot in June 1977, and when I look at her picture I am transported to the day I flattened a commander and got away with it, and Remember When. . .
Guy Woodworth of Presque Isle is a 1973 graduate of Presque Isle High School and a four-year Navy veteran. He and his wife Theresa have two grown sons and five grandchildren. He may be contacted at lightning117_1999@yahoo.com.
