Last Update: 9/28/2007

OK - get your feet up! If you have a story to tell this is the place to put it. Just click on any of the true stories listed below and have a good laugh. No bull#%*@ here. If you've got a good one to tell, please send it to me. Let the truth be told!

1944-1950

First Encounter With The Enemy - By John Haley

We left Pearl Harbor on our first War Patrol the 13th of November 1944 for the South China Seas. When we were out aways we dove to check equipment. I was on the helm and after a while the Captain ordered the boat to periscope depth. I was watching him scan the surface and all of sudden the blood drained from his face. He yelled dive, dive and said he saw a torpedeo heading our way. We got down fast and the torpedo passed over the top of us. We played cat and mouse for awhile, then broke contact and went our merry way. That was our first contact with the enemy. After my watch I had to change my clothing.

Bombs and Depth Charges - As told by Jack Kidder and recalled by Greg Baer

Jack Kidder, one of her crew that made all of her war partrols, recalls on one occasion that they went deep to near 1000 feet to escape bombing and depth charges. They were down for 60 hours while leaving the area. What he remembers the most is the moaning sounds of the hull and the jets of water from leaking valves.

I Gave Her My Purple Heart - As told by Jack Kidder and recalled by Greg Baer

The next day was June 13, 1944 and the Caiman was commissioned and Forest told his story some 66 times. After the ceremonies were over the crew assembled at Polly's Inn for pictures, cake cutting and a party. One of the big events at the party was the awarding of a big purple heart to Forest Milas for bravery beyond stupidity for taking on three pissed off Army guys. He proudly accepted and the band played on. Take a look at the pictures of the crew in the Gallery under Caiman Crew 40-50. Look for the guy in the dark glasses. You can't miss him.

1951-1960

How High's the Water Momma - by Roy Fink

I was a seaman, sonar striker on the Caiman in 1960 when we went out on a trim dive after a few days in port. I was sitting in the crew's mess leaning on the after bulkhead waiting for the noon meal. When the diving alarm rang, the COB got up and ran to the control room. In a few more seconds we went down almost vertical. I was pinned to the table and terrified listening to the emergency surface alarm and the screaming of the forward tanks. A large bowl of spaghetti took off and hit the forward bulkhead which was now on the deck. Prokopek struggled around out of the galley and put a record on our swivel mounted turntable - Johnny Cash singing "How High's the Water Momma?" I started laughing so hard I forgot how scared I was. When they compensated before we got underway, they forgot about 10 torpedoes in the forward room.

Tragedy Avoided - By Charlie Cloud

This is a story I can never forget. I was a radioman on Caiman in 1955. On this particular day we were having some problems with one of our antennas. While on the surface the communications officer sent me and another radioman topside to work in the superstructure in the sail to try and locate the problem. While we were working, one of the lookouts spotted something and the OD quickly sounded the diving alarm, cleared the deck and the boat started down leaving us trapped in the sail. The communications officer acted quickly and ordered the OD to surface the boat to get us out of the sail. He saved our lives. I owe my life to this man and sure would like to find him. If you know his name or anything about him, I sure would appreciate to hear from you. Here is his picture in the Gallery. Thanks, Charlie Cloud.

Nice Picture - By Kent Carroll

Caiman departed Pearl Harbor in 1952 enroute to Japan to join the Seventh Fleet. As we crossed the International Date Line we entered the 'Golden Dragon’s domain'. Caiman was ordered to make an interim stop at the island of Chichi-Jima in the Bonin Islands to provide supplies to the submarine detachment stationed on the island.

Chichi-Jima is located on a straight line between downtown Tokyo, Japan and Agana, Guam. The island is six hundred and twenty miles south of Tokyo and seven hundred miles north of Guam. It is a little over four miles long, two and a half miles wide and rises vertically out of the sea with steep cliffs on all sides, with the exception of Port Lloyd harbor, which has a white sandy beach. The island of Iwo Jima lays 140 miles to the south.

Message instructions cautioned that it was imperative the anchor be walked out and not dropped, as the bottom of Port Lloyd harbor was filled with unexploded ordnance.

Towering cliffs bristling with gun emplacements carved into solid rock surrounded the entrance into the harbor. Once through, we anchored in a sheltered cove. Lieutenant Commander John Kelsey, the officer in charge of the Navy’s submarine detachment on Chichi-Jima, arrived alongside in a motor whaleboat to greet us. He was bare chested, dressed only in a baseball cap, cut-off shorts and sandals. After arrangements were made to offload supplies, Kelsey invited Jack Bennett our commanding officer, Bob Stecker the XO, Dick Clark, Joe Skoog and me to accompany him back to the beach.

Arriving at the pier we were warmly greeted by a several enlisted submarine sailors and a dozen Caucasian civilians. The civilians spoke English with an unusual heavy 19th century New England accent.

Kelsey than took us on a tour of the island, which was laced with well dug-in tunnels and hidden gun emplacements. We visited a Japanese seaplane and torpedo boat squadron base on the shore of Futami Bay that still had several Japanese torpedoes with the warheads removed. We were told the warheads had been dumped in the harbor by the 3rd marines several years earlier. We now understood why we were not to drop the anchor. Our sailors obtained numerous souvenirs, the most prized of which was a Japanese torpedo’s gyro extricated by first class torpedoman George Day.

Behind the seaplane base we were led up a large, deep ravine with numerous machine gun emplacements well concealed and encased in concrete. At the end of the ravine were two huge rock caves carved into the side of a hill, each protected by a massive steel door. The caves were copper-lined and shaped in the form of Quonset huts, with dehumidifiers installed in each.

Kelsey told us that during the later stages of World War II, Japanese leaders had planned that if U.S. forces invaded Japan proper and Chich-Jima escaped assault, the national archive treasures of Japan were to be shipped by submarine to the island. The archives would be stored in the copper-lined dehumidified caves.

We returned to Kelsey’s headquarters, which also served as his living quarters, for lunch. The white stucco building near the waterfront had been General Tachibana, Imperial Japanese Army, Island Commander’s headquarters during WW II. General Tachibana commanded the 17,000 man Chichi-Jima garrison.

John’s wife, Theodosia Kelsey, joined us. In the dining room was an oil painting of the well-endowed Mrs. Kelsey, who was bare from the waist up. She appeared not the slightest bit embarrassed. I am sure she was enjoying our reaction to her nude painting as much as we were enjoying the painting itself.

That evening I wrote a long letter to Betty, my wife, telling her about the fascinating events of the day.

Take'r Down - By Tom McCabe

Dependents cruises are usually a lot of fun and uneventful - except this one time in 1960...

One of the Chiefs on board (name witheld) was in charge of doing the compensation for the Dependents Cruise in the summer of 1960. Due to a math error in his calculations, (He slipped a decimal place.) We loaded 50,000 # of water into Forward Trim Tank, and WRT. We went out and after we crossed the 100 fathom curve we did our dive. Remember we were packed with dependents. Capt. Buchannan was in the Conn and told the Diving Officer (A newly Qualified Ensign) to "Take'r down to 100 feet smartly. Give them a good show."

They sounded the diving alarm and started down. Of course the bottom dropped out from under us. The Diving Officer standing with his right hand in the overhead wire way and his sweety attached to his left hip, gave the order for full dive on both planes. As the angle went off scale and the shallow depth gauge went below 160 feet, The Ensign kept telling the planesmen to "Take a little off the angle." He had obviously gone where no man had gone before. My wife, seven months pregnant, took it all in stride. I on the other hand was in near panic, as were all the qualified persons. From the Conn we heard Captain Buchannan shouting, "Blow everything, blow everything." I was standing next to the forward end of the "Blow Station" and started opening Blow valves from the forward end as the Aux of the Watch started from the After end. The boys in the Maneuvering Room put the Main Motors in Back Emergency without orders.

The ship began to shudder and gradually we felt the angle coming off. Someone cut in the Deep Depth Gauge and it was reading 450 feet, and moving upward. We came up fast and thank God we stayed on the surface. We re-compensated and after everything was cleaned up continued with the Dependents Cruise.

After it was all over I asked my wife why she wasn't afraid during the casualty. She Replied, "I wasn't scared at first. I thought it was all part of the show. But when that guy with all the gold on his hat turned green, I got a little afraid." (The Commodore) The Chief didn't get any disciplinary action against him, I guess everyone was just to glad to be alive.

The Dog's Name Was Steve - By Tom Pollgreen

The dog pictured in the Gallery 'Who's That Doggie On The Pier' is Steve. He had been mistreated by the Jar Heads at Pearl. They had, on one or more occasions, squirted a fire extinguisher at his private parts. All you had to do was pick up a fire extinguisher and/or say "nice doggie" and Steve was ready to fight. When the manuevering watch was set, Steve was allowed on deck. He would stand in the bull nose as if to dare anyone to come on board.

One of the other boats had a dog on board, and if by chance the two boats were coming up the main ship channel, both dogs would talk back and forth. When we tied up, the dogs would meet at the dumpster at the head of the sail.

Just before I came on board they had another dog (Dachshund) named Snorkel. The story goes that the dog had been taught to do his business on newspapers. One day the steward was making up the captain's bunk. The sheet was laying on the floor. Snorkel thought it was a newspaper. When the boat tied up in Canada, Snorkel quickly became the property of a Canadian admiral.

And that's the Dog gone truth!

1961-1972

Caiman's Caimans - By Jim Bain and Jack Warden (taken from their emails in June 2004 by Greg Baer)

In June of 2004 there were some emails floating around talking about the real caimans that were brought aboard the Caiman as mascots. These emails had some newspaper articles attached which you can see in the Gallery. Here's what they said.

Jim Bain recalls...
The clipping is correct considering what the author knew at the time. But, this was the second Caiman. The first one was given to us in Vancouver, BC by their zoo and died a few months later. Thats when Weis got the second one from the SD zoo. You can talk to Aiello, Cunningham, Marcom and anyone else who was on board in 1962. One good source to talk to would be CrocDoc first class Tony Ziner, Comsubpacs only living Submarine Veterinarian.

Jack Warden Recalls...
Well, it has been 42 years therefore, my memory may be a bit fuzzy regarding all of the elements surrounding the croc coming aboard for the first time. As I recall, when we got the first Caiman in BC it died within a few days. Prior to leaving they gave us another one that made it back to San Diego. I remenber Capt. T. J. Bruck telling me when the port authority inspectors came aboard, that we were to say nothing about having a reptile aboard. I think Aiello hid him under the deck plates in the forward torp room. I remember we always kept him in the plexiglass aquarium on top of the sonar stacks. However, when we got back to SD there was an article in the paper about our Canadian friends getting another Caiman to us. I dont't know if that is the article that you infoed me on from Whit, but the one from the San Diego Zoo may have been the third in the line of crocs. I remember Jack Newman was none to pleased about being the O in C of the Caiman. Jeff Kerr on occassion would have the croc bite down on envelopes he was mailing out so that it would have tooth marks embossed on the correspondence. Jim, if the number of crocs is inaccurate and we only got one in BC, chalk it up to my failing memory. If it is moderately accurate we can preserve it for the Caiman history books.

The Real Train Whistle Story - By Ken Fleming

On our way to Seattle, for the World's Fair in 1962, I was on the radar aiding in navigating and keeping watch for other contacts. As part of navigating, I kept referring to the charts for land marks. As we got off the Washington State coast, the charts showed railroad tracks along the coast. Being a steam locomotive engineer (before my Navy days) and still a fan of them, I knew actually what railroad it was and that they still operated steam locomotives. I remarked to the Quartermaster on watch, "wouldn't it be neat to have a locomotive whistle on the Caiman". The Conning Officer overheard the remark and said that the Captain (LCDR Tim Bruck) had also expressed this same interest. Sure enough on my next watch, the Captain came up to the "barrel" and asked me if I thought I could get him a whistle for Caiman. I said I knew where a possible source was and that I would try.

Well I won the anchor pool when we tied up in Seattle. This gave me the funds to rent a car and armed with two letters from Capt. Bruck, I set off on my mission. Of course I had to stop off at the Manhattan Club for a couple of "pops" before leaving for the coast. I drove to Port Angeles and spent the night. In the morning, I continued on to Hoquiam, where the Rayonier Company's logging railroad was head quartered. I was informed that the manager was out in the "woods" doing track repair. While waiting for the manager's return, I helped the hostler fill the tenders of five locomotives, under steam, one at a time we took them to a large wooden water tank. This was just the thing to do while wearing dress blues. I didn't care, it was like being in "train heaven".

When the manager returned, I introduced myself and gave him the letters from Capt. Bruck. He told me that they had recently scrapped engine #11 and he had the bell and whistle from it. He said that the bell was on his mantle, but a whistle wouldn't do much on a mantle. He gave me the whistle for the Caiman. I beat feet back to Seattle and returned to the boat.

I was just in time to catch the Captain before he left for a party. The whistle, still in a burlap bag, was placed on his bunk. When he returned and opened the bag it was like a kid getting his first bike. Later, the A-gang used the ship's air connection back in the engine room to blow the whistle for its first time on Caiman. As they say, "the rest is history". Forty-two years later and I am still looking for a whistle like that one.

Footnotes:

Ray deYarmin Adds...
Last time I saw the Caiman whistle was in the Submarine Museum in Pearl Harbor. It should have become a part of the new museum near the Arizona Memorial. The whistle was donated to the museum when Caiman was decommissioned. It was mounted on a wooden stand with an appropriate identifying plaque. I was always proud to exhibit the whistle and it became the subject of many interesting inquiries.
That's the rest of the story.  -  Ray

Mobile Canteen Truck By Another Name - By Jack Warden

While serving as a MM1(SS) on USS Caiman SS-323 in 1961 on the way to westpac, we made a stop at the Submarine Base, Pearl. While tied up to the pier the topside watch announced "The Geedunk Truck is on the pier". A recently qualified junior officer went topside and berated the topside watch for not using proper terminology. "I want you to announce the Navy Exchange Mobile Canteen is on the pier in the future" he said. Shortly after the topside watch was relieved and passed the instructions to a more seasoned watch stander who replied "That's a bunch of crock".

Later while watching the movie the crew roared when the 1MC announced "The Roach Coach is on the approach."

USS Caiman Meets The USS Samuel N. Moore - By Jack Warden

In the fall of 1961 while conducting ASW exercises in the western pacific near Okinawa, USS Samuel N. Moore DD 747 was acting as a screen for the USS Yorktown CVS-10. USS Caiman SS 323 was attempting to penetrate the destroyer screen and gain a firing position on the Yorktown. Aboard Caiman the pinging of Moore’s active sonar could be heard, but the pings were far apart indicating she was on a long range search.

Moore was also directly astern of Caiman and Caiman’s own propellor noise made it difficult to accurately judge her range. When the Moore shifted to short range pinging it became apparent she was much closer to Caiman than suspected. To compound the problem, all ships were running in a darken ship condition, without lights.

Caiman was at periscope depth and started to head for a deeper depth, but before she was able to gain sufficient depth, the rudder of the Moore struck the aft position of Caiman’s sail, causing severe damage to several masts and antenna’s.

Lost in the collision was the snorkel head valve; (an air operated valve which allows air into the boat while snorkeling, but prevents entry of water) and several radio antenna’s. After the collision USS Moore went to Sasebo for repairs and the USS Caiman went to Yokosuka for her repairs.

1969 Super Bowl - By Jim O'toole

The date was the day after the 1969 Super Bowl and, as you can imagine, there were a few dollars in friendly wagers on the game between the Jets and the Colts. We were out on a patrol in WesPac and were receiving our news once a day by radio and the radiomen would make a couple of copies of the decoded messages for the crew to read in a makeshift newspaper.

Most of us were interested in the Super Bowl score but when the score came through, 16-7 Jets, no one believed it as all we got was the score with no game details. The guys who bet on the Jets were demanding payment from the Colts fans but the Colts fans would not pay off as we all knew that there was no way an AFL team with a loudmouth quarterback could beat the Colts. It was another day before we got the details of the game and we found out that Joe Namath had "guaranteed" a Jets win and pulled it off.

The Caiman may have been the last place on earth where NFL fans learned the full story about the upset.

White Rat - By Greg Baer

While on the Caiman in 1971 I built and installed a white rat, a small battery powered microphone and preamp, behind the BQS4 repeater in the conning tower. I ran its output through some unused wires from the UQC control unit down to the UQC transceiver in the control room and then through some unused wire from there to the sonar shack. One time while submerged off of San Diego, I was on the stack and Lt Logan Chance was in the Conn looking through the periscope. I heard him say, "hmmm... there's a small sail boat over there, let's see if sonar is on the ball...Sonar, Conn do you hold anything around 120?...Sonar, eye - wait.........I called back....Conn Sonar, yes, it sounds like it might be a bait tank....Logan says in the Conn..Damm those guys are really good!! I used it a few more times with great results until I was shook out of my rack one day and asked to go see LCDR Jack Roudebush right away. I crawled out of my bunk and went forward to find Jack holding my white rat by its tail..er..I mean wire, and he said "Is this yours?...I said, I cannot tell a lie, I put that white rat there. He laughed and said don't do it again. Whew - that was close!

Navigating The Torres Straits By Brail - By Greg Baer

In May of 1971 the Caiman departed Darwin Australia with its crew full of Fosters Lager and headed to Brisbane. We had to go through the Torres Straits which is a narrow stretch between Australia and New Guinea with hazardous reefs and currents and some 70 islands. We picked up a very British sounding old salt of a Pilot all dressed in whites smoking a pipe. I swear I thought we were in some kind of movie. He sat up on the bridge almost the entire time he was on board. There were no nav lights on any of the islands and we didn't have loran or any other electronic means to navigate. The radar was land locked. So, it was the Pilot who as we moved east called the shots. I remember being up on the bridge several times watching this amazing process. Thank god the skies were clear and full of stars because that's how he did it. As we moved he kept a eye on the horizon and watched the stars dissapear behind the islands and then he would give rudder commands. Sure glad he had good eyesight. Well we made it but the story's not over.

We made it to the rendevous point to off load the Pilot but the boat never showed. After waiting for several hours we proceeded to go to Port Morseby New Guinea to off load the Pilot. We were unable to raise anyone on the radio so we were entering the port unannounced. As we entered the port we saw a boat coming toward us at high speed. As it loomed closer and closer in our binoculars we soon saw it was a gun ship with crew on deck with guns at the ready. It pulled along side and the Pilot started talking to them in their native tongue (it wasn't english) and the situation calmed right down. He made his way down and onto the fast boat and we turned around and headed to Brisbane. I remember taking pictures of all this as it unfolded but discovered a few days later that the film in my camera wasn't advancing - Damm.

Surprise from Above - By Greg Baer

The Caiman operated with the USS Ranger (CV-61) task force in the Indian Ocean for a few days in May 1971. We were mostly playing hide and seek with the airedales. After a few days of this we broke from the excercises one evening and planned to spend the night charging our batteries and resting the crew. Our radar was secured as were almost all of the electronics in the boat because our air conditioning systems were TU. We still stood watch though, just in case. On this night I made a 4 cup coffee run up to the bridge to take in some fresh air and smoke one of my favorite cigars.

It was a pitch black sky and there was a slight warm breeze blowing from the north. You could hear the diesels running in the background. There were two lookouts, the OD and myself. It was a quiet night at about 0200. All of a sudden the sky lit up and an S-3 from the south passed right over the bridge at what seemed like about 50 feet altitude. The sound from the plane was deafening along with our four synchronized screams. I lost my cigar and the coffee became a warm spray in the breeze and wind from the passing plane. After we all got back up and checked our shorts, we let out a tirade of profantities aimed at the now dissapearing S-3. The only light that the plane showed was it's powerful spot light which had been on for only a few seconds as it passed over the Caiman. They were undoubtedly laughing at us while they pulled this little stunt. What they really did, was show us that they really could find us afterall - after a day of no luck when we were submerged. We made a run on the Ranger the next day and 'sunk' their asses.

Up The River Without A ... - By Dick Meaux

Portland was one of the last ports of call for Caiman before it was decommissioned. We sailed up the Columbia River and stayed a few days and departed. I'll never forget the day we left Portland. I had been there before in ARCHERFISH and on that visit our river transits were enjoyable and pretty as well as unremarkable. In CAIMAN's visit, things were considerably different.

We were moored outboard another sub, HARDER perhaps, and just upriver from a bridge. There was another bridge a little further upriver that limited our maneuverability. When we got underway, the river current was very strong and we had to push our way upriver to turn around and head downstream. It was quite an adrenaline moment for me as we had a maximum twist on, and a tug to push then pull, but despite all that it we were being forcefully swept down river toward the lower bridge. Needless to say, I breathed a sigh of relief as we got straight and headed down river just as the bow got to the lower bridge and we were able to shoot through the gap literally at the very last minute. The fact that our whip antenna scraped the bottom of that bridge as we shot through only added drama to the event.

Later, after dodging, logs all the way down, we came to the mouth of the river and got the anchor detail secured and below just in time to have the deck completely swept by crashing waves as we went through a tremendous line of breakers brought about by the outgoing tide meeting the open ocean.

It was a departure that I remember well to say the least.

Under The Bridge - By Dick Meaux

The home leg of Caiman's last cruise brought us to San Francisco. It was to be the ship's last call in that beautiful city (turns out we did go back once more before decommissioning). To mark that last visit I got the idea to transit the Golden Gate submerged.

I checked the charts closely to see if the channel was deep and clear, which it was, further I was happy to see that, fortunately, it was a rare clear and crisp day in San Francisco and there was no ship traffic in and around the bridge. We started rigging for dive when we got underway, as usual, but other people started suspecting that I had some scheme in mind when I did not head directly out of the harbor. Instead we took a little tour of the Bay, laying off Fisherman's Wharf and sounding the train whistle.

Once rigged for dive we headed out and there was a general sense of what l had in mind. Neal Henson was the Engineer and he came up and asked if he could make the dive, which he did. It was a short dive just to go under the bridge and then back up on the surface, probably ten to fifteen minutes. It created a little bit of a buzz but it was a safe and uneventful excursion under the bridge.

Caiman Meets The Pier - By Don Walbaum

It was sometime in 1972 when the soon to be Turkish captain of the Dumlupinar/Caiman, LCDR Akyuz, had his first attempt in landing the boat at the pier in San Diego. It wasn't what you call a two bell landing. I was in the engine room at the time when all of a sudden there was a good jolt. It turned out that he had hit the pier pretty hard and dented Caiman's bull nose. The one thing I remember about it was that the Turkish sailors were not very happy with their captain.

Later that same day the Turkish sailors found a live goat and tied it up to the bow jack staff. We had no idea what was going to happen. I didn't see it but the next night they slaughtered it right where it stood and prepared it for a grand feast to celebrate taking over the Caiman. I guess it must be a standard ritual when taking over a submarine?

The bull nose was replaced a day or two later. I happended to be in the right place at the right time and managed to salvage the old one. I've still got it too. If you get anywhere near Lakeside, California stop on in and take a look.

The Day My Heart Sank - By Sait Kucuk

It was the morning of August 31st, 1976 when the Dumlupinar (formerly the USS Caiman (SS-323), the Muratrees (formerly the USS Razorback (SS-394) and the Hizirreis (formerly USS Mero (SS-378) departed the Golcuk Naval base, Turkey, headed to the Aegean Sea for excercises. The next day I took the watch in the maneuvering room at 0400. We were running ahead full on both engines in the Marmarian Sea, ten mile from the Dardanelles. Fifeteen minutes into the watch, I received an order for all ahead flank. Knowing that flank speed can only be achieved on the battery, I started to call the bridge when all of a sudden the collision alarm sounded. I immediatly shut down the engines and then a few seconds later WHAM, something hit us. The boat leaned to port and then came back and listed hard to starboard. The 1MC blaired "collision in the after battery compartment". I tripped the after battery circuit breaker. Chatter on the sound powered phones told me that the after battery was flooded and there were 13 men in the compartment. About a minute and half later on the sound powered phones the word was passed "All hands, abandon ship". We went aft and got out through the after torpedo room hatch. Some crew members had already jumped into the water. I couldn't believe the sight before me. There was a very large ship with its bow embedded into the side of the Dumlupinar. The bow had torn through the fuel ballast tank and safety tank and collapsed the pressure hull at the after battery just aft of the door into the crew's mess. It all happened so fast.

The ship that rammed us was the Fizik Vavilov, an ice breaker. Vavilov put boats in the water right after the collision to help with the rescue of our crew. The Captain, Engineer, me and three more chiefs refused to leave the boat. I went to the after battery hatch and opened it. With my flash light I looked down into the compartment and could see the water and faces looking up at me. They started climbing out and all 13 made it out ok.

The Muratreis stayed with the Vavilov, so they couldn't leave the scene. Meanwhile, the Hizirreis threw us a line so they could tow us to shallow water where we hoped to ground the Dumlupinar to prevent her from sinking. The Hizirreis could not get close enough to shore. A nearby mine sweeper came to our rescue and towed us to the shallows. A salvage ship arrived the next morning to begin salvage operations. After six days the boat was down at the stern. The after torpedo room hatch was three feet under. The boat was flooded from the control room to the after torpedo room. On the seventh day we towed the boat to the shipyard for repair.

It took two years of a lot of hard work, but we finished the overhaul in 1978. The Dumlupinar returned to service. I left the ship in 1980 to go to Submarine School as an instructor. The Dumlupinar was decommissioned on February 6, 1983. Later that year in December she was re-commissioned as a battery charging boat and operated for another three years. On September 15, 1986 the Dumlupinar (USS Caiman) was decommissioned for the final time. Shortly after she was sold for scrap.

If you ask me, is there any peace on earth for Caiman? Yes, I will keep her love forever in my heart to eternity. Love to all Submariners who worked on Caiman. - Sait Kucuk