David Taylor spent 22 years in the Navy, serving from 1969 to 1991. During that time he rose in rank from an enlisted Seaman Recruit to becoming an officer, and eventually retired as a Lieutenant Commander. The majority of his career was spent in one of the most thankless and hidden but absolutely critical jobs in the US Navy—making the steam that propelled the vast majority of the Navy’s fleet through the high seas. 

After retiring from the Navy, Taylor worked at Philadelphia Naval Yard, breathing new life into tired old ships and helping to develop the new technologies the Navy set its sights on—for better or worse. 

In the first of this two part in depth expose, Taylor gives us an incredibly rare insight into what it took to run the Navy’s mightiest vessels during the height of the Cold War, and what it is like to be Chief Engineer, responsible for more than most would care to imagine, aboard a US Navy surface combatant. We will also learn what it takes to refit a supercarrier, and Taylor will deconstruct the feasibility of returning mothballed ships to the fleet, which is a hot topic as of late.

David Taylor aboard the USS England while on cruise in 1985. , Courtesy of LCDR(R) David Taylor

Arriving as a fresh Engineering Officer aboard the supercarrier USS Kitty Hawk

An extended yard period is the most difficult time in the career of any Navy man, officer or enlisted. The yards are seldom in the ship’s home port and frequently the move is not designated a change of home port, so funding is not available to move families. If moves are authorized, housing near the yards are usually substandard and expensive if available at all. It is usually better to adopt geographic bachelorhood anyway because working 12 hour days, seven days a week, with the only holiday observed being Christmas, does not leave much time for momma and the kiddies. 

Even unaccompanied, off duty life is lousy. You can’t stay on the ship, even if habitability services are available, the industrial clamor is nerve wracking. Did you know that at 0300 a needle gun being used to remove paint on the foreword flight deck can jerk you awake while sleeping in a berthing compartment 900 feet and six decks away?

USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63) moored at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard., USN

There is no time for watchstation or in rate training. There is no equipment to train on. If the Department has enough funds, some sailors may be sent away for advanced technical training, but there is never much money for that, and the candidates for that training are usually your better people, so you end up in that uncomfortable position between a rock and a very hard place.

I came aboard as an Ensign. Because of my enlisted background, my degree and a significant lack of more senior officers, I was given a LT billet, P-1 Division, responsible for 1 and 4 MMR: 4 boilers and two main engines on the outboard shafts, two ship’s service turbine generators (SSTGs) and two evaporators, not mention 50 Boiler Technicians and Machinist Mates. I held that position through the yard period.

There is tremendous pressure. Workload pressure. Schedule pressure. Sometimes ship’s force milestones and yard milestones are mutually exclusive of each other. Then the big milestone looms on the horizon. The Propulsion Evaluation Board (PEB) is coming to conduct a Light Off Exam (LOE) to determine if a main machinery space is safe to steam. They will be checking training records to ensure that you can field a qualified watch team. They will be conducting review boards and administering written exams to determine if your designated watchstanders are as qualified as records say they are. They will be reviewing admin programs like Electrical Safety and Lube Oil Quality Management. They will  inspecting for material readiness, including system integrity, cleanliness and valve and piping labeling. They are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and they are coming in ten days!

The space to be scrutinized is a madhouse. There is no room for one more body. Laggers are lagging, barely keeping ahead of the painters, who are being pushed by someone with stencils and can of black striping putting identification signs on the pipes. The Main Propulsion Assistant, a Lieutenant Commander, is in his office, assisted by a Warrant and an Ensign as they sort through a shipping crate of stamped metal disks, used for identifying valves, looking for the tag for MS-3. You will never make it on time. And then you run out of time, and miraculously, you are ready.

After lighting the boiler, gauges are monitored by a Boilerman Technician in the No. 4 main machinery room aboard the aircraft carrier USS KITTY HAWK, USN

So you put a plate of doughnuts on the wardroom table (I do not know if this works, but I have never dared to risk not doing it), put a smile on your face, and welcome the jack booted monsters who are going to ruin your day, your week and maybe your career. 

After a few canned remarks, they  depart to do their damnedest and you make sure your quick reaction teams and the yard personnel are standing by to quickly rectify any discovered discrepancies. You hope the Ensign in charge of the Electrical Safety Program doesn’t make an ass of himself and you pray that BT3 Smedley, who you really, really need for your Burnerman does not relapse into his idiot mode. 

And then you wait.

Then the inspectors sequester themselves in the wardroom and collate their findings. They finally announce that they are ready to submit their report, first in private to the Commanding Officer (CO) and Chief Engineer (CHENG), and then to the world, all gathered in the wardroom. No one smiles. The senior member reads an almost endless list of discrepancies. Your life flashes before your eyes. Then he says, still not smiling, “the board finds #1 MMR safe to steam,” cracks a small smile and departs.

But you can’t afford to celebrate too much. They will be back in six weeks for 4 Main, then 2 and then 3. But you have learned lessons. You get better and more confident. It is still a lot of work, but the anxiety level is lower. 

Burnerman ignites a boiler aboard USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63)., USN

But the tempo is increasing, and steam testing is beginning. That means real steaming, but with different yard shops demanding your attention to support their protocols. Things get more and more hectic and the hours get longer the closer you get to the end of the overhaul. There are not enough bodies to go around. On one occasion we needed to get 2A boiler up to provide steam to support testing aft. We did not have anyone to spare because the day shift had not come on yet. My Boiler Technician Chief and I went down to the space, I stuck the torch in, he took the Control Board and we almost had it up to pressure by the time the day crew took over. Yes, not in accordance with procedures, but remember that “can do!” spirit that is both the sterling quality and the greatest shortcoming of a Naval Officer.

Finally the day arrives, you are done, you are going back to San Diego. The flight deck is covered with the personal autos of the crew. That was a blast, up a ramp to a lowered aircraft elevator, ride the elevator to the flight deck, follow the signals of an Aviation Boatswain’s Mate to your parking spot, set the brake and head below to your Sea Detail Station.

Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. Motor vehicles are parked on the deck of the aircraft carrier USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63) as preparations are made to transport them to San Diego, California, USN

Back in San Diego, there was no time to rest. We had to begin our work up for deployment. Carrier quals, Third Fleet exercises, refresher training, and the most terrifying of all, our Operational Propulsion Plant Exam (OPPE).  

The jack booted villains were coming back, this time to see if we could safely operate the plant. They were going to recheck everything plus observe us conduct Casualty Control drills, a full power run and a crash back (all ahead flank to all astern full). No conventional aircraft carrier had ever passed an OPPE the first time through. They cut us no slack. They went over our admin and our spaces with a fine tooth comb. They figured we had four spaces, so why not impose four casualties at the same time. By the time my turn was over as Engineering Officer of the Watch, I felt like had had been dragged through the mud, then run over by a Greyhound bus. 

The debrief was the same, but perhaps a bit more somber. After a dead pan recitation of our extensive list of discrepancies, the senior member said, “the board has assigned a grade of satisfactory.” The only possible findings were satisfactory and unsatisfactory. Then, instead of leaving, he said, “I have one initial comment. In terms of overall plant knowledge, understanding of procedures and ability to take quick and correct actions, I have never seen anyone as proficient as Ensign Taylor.” As my head began to swell, from the back of the room came a retort from Lt George Wolfe, an old Limited Duty Officer who was retiring as soon as we got back to port, “and you know, Captain, he’s not even the best we have!”

The Engineering Officer of the Watch monitors the ship’s engineering plants in the damage control center aboard the aircraft carrier USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63)., USN

Finally, all tests and trials behind us, we settled into the routine of making steam. It was a blissful, low pressure, predictable time, doing what we had been trained to do and doing it well. We headed to the Western Pacific.

Then the war broke out. 

The undeclared war between the Engineering Department and the Air Wing that is. The beauty of it was that the “Airdales” did not even know we were the enemy. We hated those guys. We hated their nicknames—Ripper and Killer etc. We even had a Crash Nash because of a minor mid-air collision—and the way they flew their airplane hands in conversation. You know, “there I was at ten thousand feet…” 

Before we deployed, we would mock them at social gatherings. I would be “Tubes” Taylor and another engineer “Chloride Corkum.”  We would stand within earshot of them and say things like, “there I was on the Upper Level of #1 Main…”

We ratcheted it up after we deployed. We probably would not have done it, but as soon as we were outside of territorial waters, they broke out the “shit hots.” The greatest compliment that could be given a Naval Aviator was that he was “shit hot” in the air. For the uninitiated, “shit hots” are also non regulation casual flightsuits, made of polyester, in vibrant blue and gold festooned with more badges and decorations than a single glance could encompass. They looked like a professional basketball team’s warm ups. If they were not wearing their real flight suits, they were wearing their shit hots. We were pissed. Truth be told, we were a bit jealous, all we had were flame resistant khaki boiler suits.

A Boilerman Technician opens the discharge valve to the main feed booster pump in the No. 4 main machinery room aboard the aircraft carrier USS KITTY HAWK (CV-63)., USN

Our first plan was to get the aardvark. One of the F-14 squadrons had the anteater from the old “B.C. ” comic strip painted on their vertical stabilizer. They kept a stuffed aardvark in a glass case in their ready room. There was always a junior enlisted man from the squadron on watch in the ready room to protect it. Our plan was simple. We scheduled a fire drill in the passageway outside their ready room. As part of firefighting procedures, a team with a fire hose must set fire boundaries on the opposite side of all bulkheads affected by the fire. Try as hard as they might, our hose team could not get the aardvark watchman to vacate the space.

Back to the drawing board. Our machine shop had the only engraving machine aboard. We made up less than complimentary adhesive backed brass label plates and affixed them to the squadron plaques in the lounge outside the wardroom. When noticed by a member of the affected squadron, indignation would ensue, the plaque would be replaced, and we would victimize another squadron.  

VF-114 “Aardvarks” F-4 landing aboard the USS KITTY HAWK., USN

In port, the air wing would put up a wooden partition just inboard of the officer’s brow that displayed all of the squadron plaques. I would come aboard after a night on whatever town we were in, surreptitiously remove one of the plaques (a squadron, never the air wing), stick it under my shirt, walk across the hangar deck to the other sponson, throw the plaque in the drink, climb down the ladder and head to my stateroom to sleep.

Soon, we did not have to do anything. Each squadron thought another squadron was the culprit and a virtual prank war broke out. It got so bad that senior officers took notice. I was Officer of the Deck the afternoon when the CO and the CAG (carrier air group commander) had every squadron commander standing tall, braced, being informed that this shit was going to stop now! I had to retreat to the far side of the bridge and gnaw on my knuckles to keep from laughing out loud. 

We decided we had won and quietly declared peace, just as we had quietly declared war.

USS KITTY HAWK underway in 1977., USN

We got a good overhaul from Puget Sound. Other than the “20 Khaki Emergency” I discuss later on, we had few mechanical issues, very few sailors returned by the shore patrol and we only lost one plane and no pilots during cruise. After getting six officers qualified for Engineering Officer On The Watch, I went into a watch rotation topside alternating with my watches in Main Control, in affect a four and eight rotation while the rest of the officers were on a six section rotation (4 hours on 20 hours off). 

I gained qualification as an Officer Of The Deck (OOD) and then Surface Warfare Officer (first ever to get both SWO and EOOW on a carrier). I asked for and received a split tour to a small surface combatant and shortly after returning from WESTPAC in 1977, I left for a seemingly endless series of schools intended to transform a Hole Snipe into an operations puke, then on to the USS David R. Ray—once again in the yards!

Life as Chief Engineer aboard the USS Henry B. Wilson (DDG-7) and USS England (CG-22)

Perhaps a bit of compare and contrast would be enlightening. On the surface it would seem that there would be a great similarity between the two classes of ships, at least from the standpoint of a Chief Engineer. Two engine rooms, two fire rooms, all similar auxiliaries. But there was a world of difference between the two.

I received orders to the Henry B. Wilson in early 1983 after Department Head School, chiefly because of the direct intervention of my previous CO at Surface Warfare Officers School. I think it was because he thought I was up to the job and because he wanted to challenge me (I hope it was not because he wanted to consign me to two years on a mankiller). One of the benefits of the job was that it was a Lieutenant Commander billet that was normally filled by a Lieutenant, which triggered a fairly obscure regulation—a spot promotion that was permanent as long as I completed the tour successfully.

The Charles F. Adams class guided missile destroyer USS HENRY B. WILSON (DDG-7)., USN

The Chief Engineer is responsible for the operation and maintenance of the propulsion boilers, turbines and shafting, 60 Hz electrical generation and distribution, potable water distillation and distribution, air condition and ventilation, chill water for electronics, and interior communications systems. These included telephones, sound powered phones, announcing systems, wind speed and direction sensors, ship’s speed sensors and indicators, alarm systems and 400 Hz generation and distribution. Systems from the keel to the masthead, bow to stern. Also included was responsibility for the engines of the small boats, anchor windlass and hydraulic underway replenishment gear. The Chief Engineer was also the Damage Control Officer, with responsibility for training all damage control parties, maintaining fire and flushing pumps and piping, sewage disposal systems and ships welders. But bottom line, the primary responsibility of the Chief Engineer was to ensure that, when the Captain said  “…I intend to go in harms’ way” he could.

The Charles F. Adams class was quite a ship for its time. It had 5”/54 caliber guns forward and aft, dual armed Tartar missile launcher aft (a hydraulic nightmare, our Fire Control Technicians called it “Christine” after Stephen King’s eponymous novel), ASROC, even a rudimentary range finding sonar, using a passive dome about a third of the way aft. The propulsion plant was the second generation of 1200 psi, uncontrolled superheat boilers put in service. A truly beautiful ship, it looked like a warship, as opposed to, say, today’s DDG-1000 stealth destroyer. But it was no longer its time. They were old and worn out. 

Pacific