Flick a Switch-Change a Life
       
   As a young man seeking out a career and a pathway in life, I studied my way in the Navy and made patrols on the USS George C. Marshall, serving as one of their reactor operators. We weren't on a slimy boat as Hollywood depicts submariners in the movies--actually we could eat off the highly waxed and polished linoleum floors, nor were we the swashbuckling type who said 'aye matey' from behind a black eye patch.
    It's true that the Navy changed from the days when ships were made from wood and the men required steel in their backbones to survive the hardships at sea. The technological demands of modern weaponry required an evolutionary process similar to the Darwinian theory. Now sailors went to school to become experts on the equipment that stood as freedom's sentinel and ensured on-board survival.
    Two groups evolved: officers who administered the boat's operation and gave orders, and men who obeyed the orders, operated the equipment, and maintained the boat. After eight patrols and nearly two years of underwatunderwater life the routine became commonplace until a new breed of men joined the normal complement of 110 crew members.
    The new species of man was called a mid-shipman who boarded our boat as if they expected a summer cruise on a presidential yacht. We soon learned that midshipmen were younger than us, had advanced education in all matters marine, but nothing in the way of practical knowledge. We welcomed the midshipmen who certainly weren't technicians and who weren't quite officers, but deserved their portion of respect for career aspirations not actually realized.
    One such mid-shipman was Joe Smythe (not his real name, but who got high marks in a course called Arrogance 101). Joe, who looked like he didn't need to shave, walked around our boat openly boasting of his vast intellect, family importance, wealth, political connections, and that he was destined for greatness on planet Earth.
   When we noticed that he routinely treated the 'men' section of the crew as individuals who ranked somewhat lower than whale excrement, the 'men' put a target on his forehead. They marked him for the butt of all future pranks orchestrated by those who are experts at humbling the haughty.
    I was on watch one day when Joe came aft toward the engineering spaces. To do this he had to climb through a hatch into a small space called the tunnel that was directly over the reactor. Payback time, I thought, and flicked a test switch that tested the "Danger High Radiation' sign for the tunnel area.
    I stopped Joe as he entered my compartment and showed him the sign. "Didn't you see the warning?" I asked.
    He shrugged his shoulders and tried to walk by me.
    "Not so fast, sir. I'm afraid you'll have to visit the shower and decontaminate."
    His eyes widened as he absorbed the news.
    Shipmates are great guys. Instantly, I had a lot of help. Also, the news spread throughout the boat that the offensive and ignorant midshipman was in the clutches of the men he offended.
   (Side note: You can't wash off radiation only the contamination that causes the radiation.)
    Joe found himself in the engineering shower with a cake of hard soap scrubbing himself thoroughly. Some nasty crewman (smiles) turned off the hot water and we were in the North Sea during the winter that made the cold water in the external tanks near freezing.
     Soon the other watchstanders assisted. The auxiliary man came with his freon detection meter that he normally used to detect leaks in our air conditioning system to measure Joe's 'contamination. The corpsman came to take his temperature and pulse, the doctor came with a loaded syringe to give him the tetanus shot that he was going to get anyway the next week.
    Now came the psychological part. We all knew that he was getting married upon graduation from the academy. (Funny how all the bragging becomes the basis for our ruse.) The doctor kept shaking his head as he checked his heartbeat and breathing with the stethoscope.
   
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