ARMED FORCES: Togetherness for 60 Days

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"The only things I missed," decided Engineman First Class Joseph R. Minor, 27. of Sutton, Mass., "were the birth of the hula hoop and the death of the Purple People Eater." As the nuclear submarine Seawolf surfaced and sailed into its home port of New London, Conn, last week, others among its 94 enlisted men and eleven officers got busy catching up on the changes in their world (three had newborn children) since they disappeared below the sea Aug. 7. Their 60 days of undersea cruising (14,500 miles) broke sister ship Skate's 31-day record for human survival out of touch with earth's atmosphere.

Life Below. The U.S. Navy was more interested in what had happened inside that cramped little universe where the crew, standing four-hour watches between eight-hour off-duty stretches, breathed mechanically purified air and coped with the modern submariner's most tenacious enemy: boredom. For his historic test of the psychological and physiological effects of such long isolation, Commander (now Captain) Richard Boyer Laning, 40, Seawolf's skipper, took along all the home comforts he could tuck into the $70 million ship. Aside from the usual supply of jukebox records and movies (carefully laced with training films), Laning had an electric organ. Sensitive nerves were spared, because an amateur musician could pour the outflow into earphones, and he alone could hear the sound. Seawolf's cooks tempted lackadaisical palates with steaks, roast beef, turkey and leg of lamb. Monotony-breaking Chinese and Italian meals kicked up mild gripes among the meat and potato set, but a refrigerator was always stocked with cold cuts. Average weight gain: 2 Ibs. Seawolf's medical officer, Lieut. Commander John H. Ebersole, dished out "tranquilizer" pills—half genuine and half dummies—to those who got insomnia, in a controlled experiment of the drug's usefulness.

The Navy's net finding on the voyage: total isolation from surface environment presents virtually no problems; Seawolfs crew could have stayed down, as Rear Admiral Hyman G. Rickover once said, "until time to re-enlist."

Journey's End. Soon after Seawolf rose out of the sea amidst a cluster of welcoming ships and planes, Skipper Laning won his fourth stripe and, with proper TV show dates, took his proper place among the Navy's new roster of heroes. Son of a retired naval medical officer, Rear Admiral Richard H. Laning. and brother of four Navy and Marine officers, Annapolis Graduate ('40) Dick Laning won Bronze and Silver Stars for his World War II submarine record in the Pacific, took the coveted Seawolf command when she was commissioned in March 1957.

He keeps his stocky frame (5 ft. 6^ in.) fit at sea bv weight lifting, trains his brain on voluminous reading (mathematics, economics, psychology, foreign affairs, the Russian novelists), once berated a fellow officer for not having read Oswald (Decline of the West) Spengler. Father of two daughters (Christine, 13, Lucille. 8), he also runs a tight ship at home. Says his wife: "He thinks 'togetherness' is for the birds. Father, to him, should be Head of the House, and command dignity and respect from the children. That's exactly what he gets from the children, too—plus adoration."