In mid‑July 1975, the attack submarine USS Finback (SSN‑670) was preparing to depart the docks at Port Canaveral after a period in port. According to local legend, that’s when shenanigans began, and the events that followed ended up costing the skipper Commander -Connelly D. Stevenson – his command.

While the USS Finback underwent overhaul at Port Canaveral in the summer of 1975, some of her crew passed their off-hours at a local haunt known as The Cork Club. There, they struck up a rapport with a young go-go dancer from Titusville named Cathy Susan “Cat” Futch.

As the submarine neared the end of its maintenance period, a few officers floated an unconventional idea: why not send the boat off in style? Specifically, by having Cat perform a farewell dance atop the dive plane as the Finback was towed past the ballistic missile sub Alexander Hamilton — a rival boat the Finback crew reportedly didn’t think much of.

Commander Connelly D. Stevenson agreed. He felt the crew had earned a reward for months of hard, often thankless work in port and out of the action. The complete their work, many in the crew had worked 65-85 hours per week for several months in a row. Even on a military vessel, that is an extraordinary workload.

So on the morning of July 10, 1975, just before 7:00 a.m., Cat Futch climbed aboard. Wearing a mink coat, she took her position on the fairwater plane. Then, as the sub began its slow departure toward the sea and acoustic trials near Exuma Sound, Ms. Futch shed the coat and performed a ten-minute dance for the crew — and, unintentionally, for Navy history.

When she finished, she put the coat back on immediately. The crew, still beaming, offered her cash and a signed photograph of the Finback. Commander Stevenson gave her a kiss on the cheek. Later, Futch reflected, “I never saw such a smiling bunch of men go out to sea. I really think it boosted the men’s morale.”

It might have ended there — a story passed quietly between submariners, remembered as a harmless bit of high-seas mischief. But the Navy’s upper brass saw it differently. When news of the stunt reached Washington, Admiral Harold E. Shear, then Vice Chief of Naval Operations, wasted no time. He directed Admiral Isaac Kidd Jr., Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, to remove Stevenson from command. As it turned out, the order was already in motion. Admiral Kidd had already instructed Vice Admiral Joel Williams Jr., who oversaw the Atlantic submarine fleet, to take action.

From the crew’s vantage point, the event seemed a rowdy success: cheering, hooting, a show that broke the monotony of a long maintenance period in port and a bit of a celebration for the boat heading back to sea, to duty, and eventually, its home port.

Navy Brass Takes A Dim View Of The Shenanigans

Problem was, from the Navy brass’s vantage point, the dance was a breach of discipline and a disruption to the chain of command. In September of 1975, Time Magazine said that “[Stevenson’s] kiss on Cat’s cheek, said the Navy brass, “tended to demean the position” he held. Stevenson had even, huffed the Navy, taken up a collection for the dancer from the crew, and “that was in bad taste.”

Ms. Futch, while nominally a civilian, became the public face of the incident; the commanding officer became its casualty. The Washington Post article bluntly put it: “She danced topless on a submarine sailing out of Port Canaveral, Fla. The crew cheered. The Navy brass booed. And the sub skipper was stripped of his command.”

Fuchs later said her performance “didn’t hurt them or me,”

The U.S. Navy’s submarine force operates under strict protocols, and this was especially true for nuclear‑powered vessels of the Cold War era. The Finback was a Sturgeon-class attack submarine commissioned in 1970. The decision to bring a civilian performer aboard breached multiple stacks of regulations — among them civilian access, safe procedures while underway, and unsafe navigation of a nuclear‑powered vessel besides.

A 2010 Naval Institute article labels the event “one of the most notorious incidents in the history of the Navy’s nuclear‑powered submarine force.”

When the incident came to light, the Navy wasted little time. Commander Stevenson was returned to port and relieved of his command. The Navy brought The official findings state that in October of 1975, the Chief of Naval Operations found that the skipper was, ahem, “guilty of permitting an action which could have distracted the attention of those responsible for the safe navigation of the nuclear‑powered submarine maneuvering in restricted waters.”

It should be noted that the same Time magazine article posts a pointed question:

“Had the Navy popped its cork? Through the ages many a great vessel has been adorned with a topless if wooden dame of the sea. And last week at a cocktail reception before a ‘Circus Saints and Sinners’ charity luncheon in Washington, two bare-breasted belly dancers were ogled by, among others, a sprinkling of admirals and generals. Little wonder that Stevenson has sought legal counsel to have his post restored and the letter of reprimand removed from his file.”

— The Nation: Navel Maneuver, TIME, September 22, 1975

In the aftermath, Cat Futch faded from the limelight. The Washington Post reported that she attempted to enlist in the U.S. Marines, but her Marine career was short‑lived, cut short by a medical discharge for medical issues. She died in June 1998, at the age of 40, and is buried in Oaklawn Memorial Gardens here in Titusville.

The skipper faded away as well and never regained equivalently visible command; his career stained forever by overlooking a bit of lighthearted fun. The Navy threw the book at Commander Stevenson, and it hit him squarely in jaw. He retired from the Navy in 1978, and died in 2008. A Naval Academy graduate, Stevenson is well remembered as a good commander and a solid team member amongst his peers.

While the people may be gone, the story of the submarine and the stripper, however, lives on forever.