January opened with a sense of continuity. The holidays had just passed, and the base gathered again, shaking off winter and settling back into routine. Leadership was firmly in place, and that mattered more than it might seem. Dick Litscher held the role of Base Commander, Bud Berg served as Vice Commander, Clyde Crowder managed the treasury, and Jim Foote carried the administrative load as Secretary. These were not ceremonial titles. In a volunteer organization, leadership is less about authority and more about persistence. It means showing up, making the calls, writing the notes, and keeping the lights on, sometimes literally.
The early months of the year carried a familiar burden. Money had to be raised. Membership had to be maintained. The scholarship program, already a cornerstone of the base’s identity, demanded attention. Tickets needed to be sold, prizes gathered, and participation encouraged. It was not glamorous work. It never is. But it was necessary, and the base leaned into it with a kind of quiet determination that speaks volumes about the men involved.
By March, there was a sense that the base was looking outward as well as inward. There were reminders that many submarine veterans in the area were not yet connected to the organization. Efforts were made to reach them, to draw them in, to remind them that there was a place where their shared experiences still had meaning. It is easy to assume that camaraderie among veterans happens naturally. It does not. It must be cultivated, often one conversation at a time.
April brought both progress and a touch of frustration. The scholarship effort continued, but participation lagged in places. There were reminders, gentle but persistent, that the base depended on its members to step forward. At the same time, the base began to turn its attention to something more lasting than a raffle or a meeting. There was discussion of a monument to honor submarine veterans laid to rest in local cemeteries. It was a reminder that this organization was not only about the living. It was also about memory, about ensuring that those who had served beneath the sea were not forgotten once their final watch had ended.
May and June marked the culmination of the scholarship effort. The tickets had been sold, the funds raised, and a deserving student selected. The announcement of the winner was more than a routine item. It was proof that the work mattered. The base was not simply gathering for fellowship. It was contributing, in a tangible way, to the future. There is something fitting in that, submariners who once operated in the hidden depths now helping to launch someone else toward the surface of opportunity.
The summer months brought a shift in tone. July, in particular, carried both celebration and transition. The annual picnic at Scenic Beach State Park was a highlight, a chance to set aside formalities and simply enjoy one another’s company. Families were present, stories were shared, and for a few hours, the concerns of dues and meetings gave way to something more human. Yet even in the midst of that, the base conducted its business. Elections were held, and leadership was reaffirmed for another term. Stability was not an accident. It was chosen.
It was also during this period that the base took a step that, while small on paper, carried symbolic weight. A new position was added, Chief of the Boat, filled by Willie Spoon. The title itself carried echoes of the submarine service, where the COB is the senior enlisted leader, the one who knows the crew, the boat, and the rhythm of both. In a veterans’ organization, the role was not official in any military sense, but it meant something. It suggested that the base was not only preserving memories of service, but also adopting the culture that had shaped those memories. Spoon, already a visible and active presence, became a kind of anchor for the group, a steady hand in the informal currents that keep any organization moving.
By September, the base had settled into a confident stride. Reports from national gatherings indicated that the broader organization remained strong, and Bremerton’s role within it was secure. Locally, the base continued to grow, both in membership and in activity. The summer picnic had been well attended, and new members had joined. There was a sense, subtle but unmistakable, that the base was no longer merely sustaining itself. It was expanding.
The fall months introduced a new focus, service to the community. As the holiday season approached, the base organized efforts to collect food for those in need. It was a natural extension of the values that had defined the group all year. Service did not end when a sailor left the Navy. It simply changed form. Members brought donations to meetings, coordinated delivery, and ensured that their efforts would have a direct impact. It was not a grand campaign. It was something quieter, and perhaps more meaningful for that very reason.
October carried the beginning of the annual membership cycle, a reminder that the organization depended on its members not just in spirit, but in practical terms. Dues were collected, new members encouraged, and the groundwork laid for the coming year. There is a certain honesty in that process. It acknowledges that goodwill alone does not sustain an organization. It requires commitment, both financial and personal.
November brought reflection. Veterans Day has a way of doing that, and the base marked it with the appropriate sense of gravity. There were reminders of service, of sacrifice, and of the shared experiences that bound the members together. At the same time, life within the base continued. Meetings were held, stories told, and plans made for the future. The past was honored, but it did not overshadow the present.
December closed the year as it had begun, with a gathering. The holiday party at the Elks Lodge was both a celebration and a moment of pause. There were meals shared, laughter, and the familiar exchange of small gifts. Beneath it all, there was a recognition that another year had passed successfully. The base had met its obligations, supported its members, and contributed to its community.
1995 was a year of steady progress, of quiet persistence, and of a growing sense that this was more than an organization. It was a continuation of something that had begun long before, in the cramped compartments of submarines and the shared experience of service beneath the sea.
The Puget Soundings 