Medicine: Saner Under Water

To the fancier of phobias, batho-to claustro-to thanato-, life aboard a submarine seems designed to drive a man out of his mind. Sealed inside a steel prison, the submariner is bored stiff for weeks at a time. His air comes out of a machine; his sun is a light bulb. And in a few swift seconds of combat he may meet a fate that the rest of the world knows only as a statistic.

Yet submariners are among the happiest military men alive. Last week Navy captain Harry J. Alvis told the American College of Physicians meeting in Chicago that the rate of submarine mental breakdowns "is much lower than among the rest of the military population." As chief of the Navy's submarine doctors, Captain Alvis had one answer known to any man who ever underwent pigboat training: all submariners are volunteers, and not every volunteer becomes a submariner. So scrupulous is the selection process that less than 1% leave the service after winning coveted dolphins. As a result, submariners are unusually bright and well-motivated men, "rarely in conflict with authority or each other."

On the face of it, even this bonus seems not enough to preserve peace for long periods under water. With a high proportion of respected experts aboard, submarine society quickly shakes down to "smalltown" clusters of six or eight men congealed around a leader. But these clusters do not freeze into antagonistic cliques, Captain Alvis reported, because endless recombinations occur in a modern sub's big crew of 80 or more men. "It takes quite a while for even a rather unpleasant person to inflict himself on everyone in the group." And a bad apple can always be set off on the next pier.

Submariners have another safety valve for pent-up emotions: a readily available doctor, the only nondisciplinarian aboard (and soon to come, a chaplain—see RELIGION). In his own seagoing days, Captain Alvis used to tour his submarine once every four hours: "The doctor becomes a sort of substitute father. Crewmen talk to him about things they wouldn't think of discussing with a line officer. In this way they get a real chance to ventilate their problems." Submariners can also be sure of recognition. Many enlisted men become officers; many officers become admirals.

"The submarine service is a most unusual [human] laboratory," concluded Captain Alvis, "a progressive series of valid limited objectives leading toward the ultimate goal of an honored retired citizen with a fairly adequate income for life." For mental health, few landlubbers can match such conditions: hard work among good men, well done and well appreciated.