Like many Mainers, Tom Cox has spent the bulk of his life in his hometown, Caribou.

In his teen years, Cox was a budding country musician, playing at the bars located near Loring Air Force Base in Limestone.

Since 1983, he’s worked for the Child Support Enforcement Program of the Department of Human Services.

But for 20 years, Cox had himself an adventure.

He served in the Navy from 1960 to 1979, retiring as a senior chief petty officer. He spent 11 of those years aboard submarines as a spook, a spy trained to intercept Soviet military transmissions.

Cox talks about those years on the documentary “Blind Man’s Bluff,” which debuts at 9 tonight on The History Channel. The two-hour special, based on the best-selling book by Sherry Sontag and Christopher Drew, exposes the role of American submarine espionage during the Cold War.

So how did a part-time country singer from Caribou end up being among the eyes and ears on the front lines for the American military?

When Cox graduated from high school in 1960, most boys who weren’t headed off to higher education with college deferments, ended up getting drafted, so many, including Cox, enlisted in the military. He was trained as a communications technician, and after scoring well on a foreign-language aptitude test, he was sent to Russian language school as well.

His exploits as an intelligence operative were about to begin.

He was assigned to Cuba during the missile crisis in 1962. He then was on the USS Oxford for a cruise around South America and the Caribbean.

His hitch fulfilled, he got out of the Navy and returned to Caribou, but he found himself dissatisfied.

“I didn’t see much of a future there with my limited education,” Cox said.

He returned to the Navy and after 11/2 years assigned to Japan, he made the move onto submarines. Cox had planned to put in eight years, then pursue a music career, but the lure of “the silent service” proved too great. He served on 11 submarines, all but one being nuclear fast-attack subs.

After his fourth sub mission, Cox became one of the few spooks, at that time, to complete submarine training and earn his “dolphin” insignia. He also earned a college degree.

“When I made my decision to remain in submarine support, it became a matter of personal pride to belong to the sub service,” he explained. “I knew my credibility would be enhanced if I was one of them. I really admired those in the submarine service, and I really found a home there.”

As a watch supervisor, Cox’s duties would be to provide information from all sensors aboard the sub to the officer of the deck, in addition to what was observable through the periscope. It was also his responsibility to be aware of all anti-submarine warfare capable units in the area of operations.

So while many aboard the sub could concentrate on their duties and forget that they were cruising hundreds of feet down in Soviet territorial waters, Cox didn’t have that luxury.

“I was probably one of the few acutely aware of the dangers,” he said. “That’s what made it fun.”

Cox’s favorite commander was “Whitey” Mack, commanding officer of the Lapon, who conducted three missions in Soviet waters, one in 1968 and two in 1969. On the last mission, he trailed a Russian YANKEE class sub for 47 days.

“In a world filled with managers, Whitey Mack was a true leader of men,” he said. “He had a way of urging his crew to maximize performance, to be smart, and to dig deep when required. He was also one of the best ship handlers I’ve ever seen. He was a tactical genius. Our crew would do anything for him.”

The hardest part about submarine service was being separated from his wife, Sandra, and his three children, William, Cher and James (who ended up a 12-year submariner himself).

“We had the option of being told if there was a hardship in the family until we were on the way back, and most of us chose not to be,” Cox said. “I knew it would affect my job. When we got to port, I would run to a phone booth and call home.”

The scariest moment for Cox came when Mack had driven so close to two Soviet subs conducting approach and attack runs that the Lapon ended up in the path of one of their torpedoes. The Lapon went to full speed to outrace the weapon.

Cox recorded that incident in his song “Torpedo in the Water,” on his album of submarine songs, “Take Her Deep.” He and Bobby Reed have now recorded a second album of submarine, country and sea shanties, “Brothers of the Dolpin,” 23 years later.

All of his intelligence work was classified, and his family knew little of what he was doing. So in the documentary, Cox described the publication of “Blind Man’s Bluff” as “cathartic.”

“In those days, I put my country ahead of my family,” he said. “Now my family has an idea that the job I was doing was exceptionally important. In my younger days, I was arrogant enough to feel I was the best at what I did. I was gone a lot, and now they understand there was a purpose, that I was contributing to the maintenance of national security. Now my family is OK with that, and they admire my participation in what I did in those days.”