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Lieutenant and Mrs. Raymond McCoole read to baby Kerry, 9 months old, at their home in Dover, N. H.
The McCooles' other children are (left to right): Kevin, 9, Michael, i, Daniel, S, and Timothy, 7.
I'll Still Sail Nuclear Subs!
(Continued from page 5)
was because when I pulled up in front of his
home, he said: "I've never seen a better ship
and crew especially your 'E Division. You've
done a good job, so don't worry. It'll be good to
have you aboard."
I was grateful for that compliment, and I went
home feeling a lot better. Less than 48 hours
later Captain Larcombe called me.
As each nuclear-submarine captain completes
his training, Vice Adm, Hyman Rickover, who
pioneered the development of this type of craft,
presents him with a bronze plaque that says:
Oh God, Thy sea is so great
And my ship so small.
It is an old Breton fisherman's prayer, but it
sums up the feeling of all seamen and their
families. The sea brings a sense of humility and
acceptance of God's will, and in the next days
I would see how this faith brings strength.
I left the message center at 8 Thursday
morning, still refusing to believe a growing fact.
When I opened the door, of my home, I found
Barbara and Kay listening to radio reports.
They hadn't slept all night. Barbara asked only
one question: "Is there any further word?"
"You know as much as I do," I said and went
to shave.
My wife is not a talkative woman in any case.
A couple who are very close don't have to talk
about some things. We have never discussed the
Thresher, for cxnmple, or the fate that left me
behind the day she went down. Relatives, friends,
reporters have said to me: "Wasn't your wife's
accident lucky? . . . How do you feel about it?
. . . Why do you think such ihings happen?" At
home, I haven't had to answer these questions.
In an hour or so I was back at the shipyard
and later began helping call relatives of the
Thresher's complement. At first we had said she
was "overdue." At 2 a.m. Thursday, however,
we had further word from Washington. "The
Thresher is missing." we said then. "The Navy
holds little hope." The voices at the other end of
the line were tight but composed, and the phrases
strangely hollow: "I see . . . thank you for calling
us . . . let us know."
By Friday the Thresher's loss was accepted
even by me. "We ought to build a memorial,"
somebody was saying. "What do you think,
Lieutenant?" I mumbled something I don't
know what but a hunk of concrete or a statue
just didn't seem important then.
Later I got into my car and began calling
on as many of the families as I could. I drove
down the same street I had many times before
with John Lyman and stopped at his house.
As I did, I kept remembering the well-wishers
who told me how lucky I was. And, truly, I
realize this. Nobody wants death. But that old
phrase kept coming back: "An extra pair of
hands, an extra pair of eyes." Mine? If mine
had been the extra pair of hands and eyes, would
the Thresher somehow have survived? Probably
I'll never know, and that thought will haunt me
the rest of my life.
JOAN LYMAN greeted me at the door. I told her
there was no hope now. She nodded under
standing'. Her three children played, too young
to realize their loss fully. Joan explained what
she had been doing. From the first, she had
worried about the other wives. Some had nobody
to turn to at this moment; others might have
specific problems money, baby sitters, trans
portation. Joan planned a meeting. She would get
all the wives together and let them know they
weren't alone in their loss, that they would feel
better helping one another.
I visited John Smarz' home, too. Barbara and
I had spent almost as much time there as at our
own place. Our five kids and John's and Joyce's
three really could make a home ring out. Now
it was quiet, but Joyce was too concerned with
others to feel sorry for herself. Death had to be
explained to the children; there were arrange
ments to be made, relatives to see. I asked if I
could do anything, but Joyce was in full control.
No, there was nothing I could do. These were
families of friends and shipmates. They were
suffering deep personal loss, but all I could do
was say, "I'm sorry," and wonder if there wasn't
some way I could provide an extra pair of hands
and eyes to those to whom I felt so bound.
I don't think it has been publicized much, but
more than 200 children were left fatherless whea
the Thresher went down. Children without
fathers need help being fatherless myself, I
especially know this. But how could I help?
One wife I visited was deeply broken by the
tragedy. She was Mrs. Jo Ann Brann, and she
had good reason for tears. In a few weeks she
expected a baby. "What will we do?" she asked.
"Where will we turn?" When I got back to the
shipyard, I thought there might be an answer
for her as well as myself.
"We were talking about a memorial," I said.
"But what good does a monument or something
do? Now if we raised funds for scholarships for
the kids' education, that would mean something."
The next weeks were crowded ones: a court
of inquiry, efforts to locate the Thresher 8,400
feet below the Atlantic, my temporary assign
ment to New London, Conn. But nothing could
get that scholarship idea out of my mind. Here
was something we could do, and a lot of us
started to work on it.
Funny, some people think you can memorialize
heroes just with inscriptions and granite. But
the men in the Thresher were more than heroes
to me. They were men like ourselves, husbands
and fathers whose main concern was their chil
dren's future; it was what gave them their
greatest purpose and satisfaction.
If anybody didn't agree with the scholarship
idea, we had a clinching argument more than
200 fatherless children. A few weeks ago I got
this notice:
"mHE thresher Memorial Fund Committee
Dose and establish fldminiHf.rflt.ivp nrocedures for
mittee meeting that this mnnev would be used
." n. , . , r , r 1 1 . j A
pi mini lijr aa ail CUUtttUUUUI 1U11U llfl Hie uwiu
ent children of both Navy and civilian personnel
lost on l hresher . . . The nnnnunmns action on
wn. wiiui uiailjr lllUlVlUUCIlo HIIU 1UU)J3 Ulivufc"
out the country, as wall na nprsnnnel within the
military services, brought this lund into Deing.
Incidentally. I visited Jo Ann Brann not long
ago. She is verv hnav nnwnHnvR taking care of
a babv srirl. There re nn mnrs tears. She told
me she "was looking to the future now, and 1
guess that is what all of us are doing.
My own future is still the sea and subs. As
soon as possible, I hopefully requested assign
ment to one of the Thresher's sister ships. Just
about the time I learned about the Thresher
Memorial Fund, I got some other good news. It
seems I will soon get a ship. I'll be happy to be
back where I belong. And I will take with me
always some words Admiral Rickover said after
the Thresher went down:
"I pray that those of us responsible for sub
marines will learn to design, build, and operate
them in a manner worthy of the men who gave
their lives in the Thresher."
Editors' Note: If you would like to contribute
to the educational fund for the children of the.
men lost aboard the Thresher, please send your
donation to:
Thresher Memorial Fund
eo Dolphin Scholarship Foundation
West Virginia House, Norfolk 11, Va.
Family H'Ktl, Inly tl. I9CJ