Bang the gong ...

     However, when a Watkins subordinate says in public, even facetiously, that the past attitude at the DOE about nuclear waste was "Pick up the barrels on Thursday and don't tell us what you do with them," it's time to bang the gong. Such loose accusations of slack, dishonest, and unlawful conduct are false, and they dishonor the legions of honest, law-abiding, and competent people who have devoted their lives to the DOE program.

     So, I say "enough already" to this baloney about ingrown cultures of incompetence at the DOE. Apparent competence, like beauty, is often in the eyes of the beholder. As we used to say in the Navy: "There is no such thing as competence, there are only varying degrees of incompetence."

     This is a good place for a sea story. which involves a division of four destroyers. One dark night, these four ships were steaming abreast in a tight formation-- not the safest, when almost everyone on board is asleep.

     I was Officer of the Deck (OOD) on one of the middle ships. As such, I had the con which meant that only I could order changes to the helm or the engines. I was a qualified OOD and was presumed to be competent.

     At some point, my routine was shattered by a watchman shouting that the ship on our port side was turning into us. Running left to observe, I shouted to the helmsman: "Right Full Rudder!" Feeling the ship lean into the turn. I ran to the other side of the bridge. knowing that I was endangering the destroyer on our starboard beam. To shorten the turning radius, I ordered: "Starboard Engine, STOP!" Then. "Starboard Engine, BACK FULL!" As I passed the voice tube, I shouted: "Captain come to the bridge!"

     In about two seconds, the Captain, in his skivvies with britches in hand, found me standing with my mouth open but speechless-- watching the bow of our ship swing dangerously close to the starboard vessel. Then I breathed a prayerful sigh of relief as we passed safely under the other's stern.

     All this time the Captain was yelling at me, and, before I could take off the rudder, he shouted: "I have the con!" This relieved me of all command authority, and, when I could not explain in two words what was happening, he told me to get out of the way, which I did.

     It seemed like an eternity before the Captain got his pants on and discovered that his ship was going around and around in a tight circle. With me silenced, he turned his attention to a seaman who was wearing the sound-powered phones. In the dark (in every respect), he begged the seaman to ask Combat Information Center for a course to regain station. But the kid froze and could not repeat the urgent pleas. Totally overcome, the Captain yanked the phones off the seaman, and, for some inexplicable reason, he asked: "What's your name, lad?"

     "GGGGGraham, sir," the young man replied.

   I will never forget the Captain's cries of agony. Throwing his hands to the heavens. he screamed: "Holy sweet Jesus, I'm beset with them,"

     I'm sure he was convinced that all Grahams belong to a clannish culture of incompetents, so he ordered us both below, telling me to call my relief.

     I still think I should have been awarded a medal for saving the ship. Unfortunately, the Captain did not behold my competence through my eyes.

John Graham is the American Nuclear Society's Washington correspondent.