I’ve mentioned on the site about how I
became acquainted with the USS Batfish, now
I would like to give a little more detail into that
first meeting.  The first reunion I attended was
in 2004, I knew none of the guys.  While on my way I remember calling one of my friends to tell him where I was going, his response was “You aren’t going to know a soul there.”  I replied, “I will when I leave.”  And I was right.

It all started after a late showing of an old World War II movie drove me to the Internet to look up the Batfish.  Chance, fate or luck, whichever it was, I discovered the crew was having their yearly reunion, and it was happening that week. The next morning found me in Muskogee, standing in a hotel parking lot searching for World War II sailors. It wasn't long before I found some. They were gathering around a van and preparing for a day at the Batfish. At first glance, they appeared to be a group of ordinary men, but I knew better. I made my way over to them, introduced myself, and explained my reason for being there.

I spent the next several hours in the belly of the Batfish with 4 of the men who sailed her. To tour this piece of history is one thing, but to be on the boat with members of its crew was incredible. Richard Hosler, Jim Butterworth, Bob Fulton and Willey Davis each took turns sharing stories from their patrols in the South Pacific.

My tour began in the forward torpedo room of the boat. Gone were the massive torpedoes that once filled the room. Bunks no longer lined the bulkheads. Six shiny bronze torpedo tubes are now the only reminder of the muscle this room once produced. During the war, it held about 14 crewmen, and they shared this tiny compartment with 16 torpedoes. On a typical day, the men would be sleeping, reading, studying, writing letters, or on watch, all packed together and yet all working separately.

Each patrol, they would take all fresh food they could carry and would have to use it within a certain period of time. When it was gone, all that remained was frozen or in cans. Bakers on board the boat would bake fresh bread everyday as well as pies and occasionally some sticky buns. "If we pulled out of Pearl Harbor, we could get all kinds of food. We had great food for the whole patrol run. But when we pulled into places like Midway, Guam or even Australia, the food was terrible." said Hosler.

Water was another challenge that submarines faced. The fresh water stills could turn out about 1000 gallons a day. The batteries and the engines used most of the water produced. The operation of the stills used fuel, a precious commodity on a patrol run. Conservation was important, and fresh water was used very carefully. “The water aboard the submarine was so bad that you could hardly drink it. We had cases of juice stored in the forward torpedo room bilge. Orange, pineapple and what have you, and that’s what we would drink.”

Life aboard a submarine wasn’t easy. The interior was confined and smelly. “Onions, food, diesel fuel and plain old sweat.” That’s how Robert Fulton described the smell. The fuel tanks vented into the boat, and the pungent smell of diesel oil penetrated into every corner. Diesel wasn’t the only source of the smell. Sweat, hydraulic fluid, cigarettes, and sewage from the sanitary tank also contributed to the environment. The limited supply of water made bathing opportunities rare, thus contributing to smell. Submariners tolerated a lot of smells that were not acceptable in any other environment.

The crew worked in shifts, four hours on and eight hours off. Time off was either spent in the crew’s mess where the men played cards, checkers, and listened to music. They also caught up on sleep in the crew’s quarters, a room filled with bunks three tiers tall and very undersized. "You went in on your belly and that’s where you slept, or else you went in on your back and stayed on your back. You didn't turn, everything was so close." said Fulton

Submarines faced a number of dangers such as aircraft, war ships and other submarines. The main anti-submarine weapon of World War II was the depth charge. Enemy ships would locate the submarine, estimate its depth and drop large steel canisters filled with explosives off the side. These explosives usually did not directly hit the submarine, but the shock of the explosions could damage the boat enough to force it to the surface. “They could be a hundred yards away and they’d still shake you,” said Butterworth.

“The most we ever got, that I can remember, was 113 in eight hours,” said Mr Davis. The cork that lined the bulkheads would fly into the faces of the sailors, and the lights would go out. The noise it produced was loud and terrifying. "It's like being inside a giant bell with someone beating it with a sledge hammer," said Fulton. The men could easily hear the sounds of the deadly charges hitting the water and the click of the detonator as they braced for these attacks. "You could hear everything. Sound goes through water just like it does in the air, just a little slower," said Butterworth. All the men could do was listen, wait and pray. “We were very fortunate that we came back, a lot of guys went through all this and didn’t come back,” said Butterworth.

During these attacks, the Batfish would maintain absolute silence to avoid detection. A submarine's best defenses were depth and silence. "If you were being depth charged, you would rig for silent running, and that would shut off all of the air conditioning, fans and any other motors. Then you would have nothing but heat" said Hosler. Heat was another factor that the sailors had to contend with. Temperatures at times could reach 120 degrees inside the boat.
As you tour the Batfish, you realize that you are standing in an exact replica of the boats that didn't make it home. The United States lost fifty-two submarines during World War II. Over 3,500 brave men went down with them. The Batfish museum has 52 bronze plaques that line the sidewalk, each containing the names of submarines as well the men who lost their lives.

After hanging out with these sailors for a while, one of the men invited me to a party they were having that Friday night. I declined the offer and explained that I was getting married that weekend and had to get home. At that, one of sailors exclaimed, “Ah hell, I’d rather go to sea!” Sailors! My tour of duty was over, and I headed home.

Some things have changed with the Batfish over the years. She no longer sails the waters of the Pacific, and a field has become her final berth. The engines that once gave her life have gone silent, and a recording now simulates the sound they once produced. It no longer smells of diesel fuel, and the temperature stays at a comfortable level. The heart of this warrior still beats strong, however, and she still has a story to tell.

Sometimes my mind wanders back to the Batfish. I think of the courage those young sailors had; they were a special breed. A poster of the USS Batfish hangs in my home bearing the signatures of the men who sailed her. It's a constant reminder to me of the sacrifices so many made to preserve our freedom. We should all have a poster like that. May God bless all of our Veterans.