I made a Med Trip on the Atule (SS 403) during 64. I was just 18, an EM3, and this was my initial grooming into "manhood." I was born and raised on a dairy farm and didn't roam far until I join the Navy. We left Key West heading northeast and what lay ahead I could only imagine. Our first port was Lisbon, Portugal. I went ashore with some of the "old hands". You know the ones, over 25. I went to a couple of bars and drank hard liquor for the first time. It didn't take long for me to become "someone else." I followed them from place to place. That night I ended up seeing my first bikini panties. (What a night.)

We left Lisbon and steamed to Rota, Spain. (Someplace else I had never heard of before.) Again I went ashore with the old guys. This episode starts with a bunch of us in a bar just being sailors. I was sitting with a TM1 (who shall remain nameless) when a Priest came in, looked around, and came over to our table. We had been there for several hours and were just getting ready to leave. The priest started talking in Spanish, then English. He was telling everyone how bad the United States was treating the world. He kept it up until we just couldn't stand it any longer. Before I knew it, the TM1 stood up, turned, and punched out the Priest. Being in a strong Catholic area, the fight was on. This was my first brawl (what a broad education of the world I was getting) To make a long story short. We were all hauled off. Our Captain had to bail us out. He signed for us and was told that it would be advantageous for us to get underway. So we left with no intentions of returning.

We sailed to Toulon, France (France, can you believe that? You have to remember I was just 18) where I learned ways of the French ladies. While we were there, some Turkish Sub sailor had raped a young French girl. The local police arrested him and put him into jail. The Turkish crew broke him out of jail and the entire crew went back to their boat and got underway. When they came back to port (about 4 or 5 hours later) the "rapist" was not onboard. (Swift justice…..)

We left Toulon, early due to some sort of disagreement between Turkey and Greece over Cypress. We steamed around and around for many days until it was over. I don't know what they settled on, I only know that they were interfering with my education. We left the "War" and steamed to Malta. For all of you that have been there, remember that in 1964 Malta got their Independence from England. (We arrived right in the middle of the celebration.) We tied outboard of two English boats. We talked and drank a lot with the Britts till a challenge was made. We would have a softball game. The losers would supply all the necessities for a party for all hands. They didn't stand a chance. The place, the booze, and the WREN's (British Army Nurses) were provided as promised. (My education was back on track) After what I can only guess was several days, we left the celebration behind and headed for Naples, Italy.

Again, I was overcome with the many lessons that I had to endure at the hands of my older mentors. I did go on the Cameo Factory tour and the boat tour to Pompeii, where I first encountered the fabled flying C and B's. Being an inquisitive student I asked the "locals" the meaning of these unusual items. The following story is true to the history of the people, strange as it might sound. If any of our fellow submarine brethren have ever thought that they have been so drunk that they would believe anything, read on.

The many crusades that the men of Pompeii engaged in lasted, at times, years. Upon their return to their loving wives, some would find new additions to their families in the form of sons and daughters. Not believing that their faithful spouses would ever stray, they were convinced that the spirit of their loins "flew" back and impregnated their loving and faithful wives. (Man, these women must have been the first politicians) You can tell these guys were not DBF'ers.

We left Naples, stopped in Greece, Gibraltar, the Azores, and steamed home. I think I aged many years in a very short time. I wouldn't have traded it for anything.

In 1964 Europe, you could buy, trade, or barter, for just about anything for 50 cents. To be more exact, a Kennedy 50-cent piece. In Greece I had 2 pair of boots made for 5 Kennedy half-dollars. During the year, in every bar, store, home, restaurant and just about everywhere you looked you would see, side-by-side, pictures of Jesus, Mother Mary, and John F. Kennedy. For you that don't know, he was the 1^st Catholic President elected in the United States.