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| U.S.S. Allen M. Sumner DD-692 | ||||
| Sea Stories - Chapter 5 | ||||
From: Vins Holbrook (SM2c 43-45)
Subject: The Brooklyn Bridge
I was watching the PBS Ken Burns program on “The Brooklyn Bridge” the other
night and we were treated to a variety of camera angles showing this spectacular
structure in all of its esthetic glory. I noted that several of the shots were
taken from underneath the bridge, looking up at the bottom and I was immediately
carried back to the spring of l944 while the Sumner was still in Brooklyn Navy
Yard preparing for our shakedown cruise. Two or three times a week we moved out
into the East River to engage in some kind of equipment test or other. If we
turned north it meant that we were headed for Long Island Sound and the relative
security provided by that body of water. But if we turned south it meant we
would pass under the Brooklyn Bridge, headed toward the open sea and all of the
regular precautions of meeting a possible enemy were taken. One of these
precautions was the removal of the canvas covers from the “Battle Lights”;
three lights, red, green and white affixed to the end of each yardarm, that
security considerations demanded were be covered while in port! Each day a
particular sequence of red, green and white was determined by someone from on
high and sent out from somewhere to all of the ships in the Navy. This sequence
served to distinguish friend from foe in emergency situations, only friends
would show the correct sequence! Obviously, this meant that someone, a
signalman, had to climb the mast up to the yard-arm, shinny out to the end and,
with both legs and one arm wrapped around the yard-arm holding on for dear life,
untie the three tie lines holding the cover on, remove the cover, grip it firmly
between the teeth, scoot backwards to the mast, turn around and remove the other
one! Then, at the end of the day, returning back to port and into the East River
the process had to be repeated although in reverse. The cover had to be placed
over the light fixture and the three tie lines secured. This would have been a
difficult task to do at a height of five feet, let alone at a height of about 60
feet! One got an unobstructed, close-up and intimate view of the bottom of the
Brooklyn Bridge, so close that at times you weren’t sure that the top of the
mast was not going to be rammed into the bridge with you hanging there! As well,
in February and March temperatures in New York often fall near or below freezing
which greatly enhanced the exercise! The interesting thing about all of this was
in the selection of the signalman who was going to crawl up there and do it! In
the “old” or traditional Navy,” such as on the Henley, my former ship,
there would have been no discussion. The sailor ordered to do it would have been
the lowest ranking signalman striker on that particular watch with no questions
asked! No such formalities existed on the Allen M. Sumner however, we were a
democratic ship! When requested to do the Battle Light covers on the Sumner, the
responses of the strikers ranged from “F--- ---!” to “Not me!” or “I’m
allergic to heights!” to whatever! If and when the O.D. noticed that the
covers had to be put on or removed, he would say something to the signalman in
charge of the watch. (The O.D. didn’t always notice, in which case nothing was
done!) The usual sequence of events that ensued after receiving direction from
the O.D. was first, to order the appropriate person to change the Battle Light
covers, and second, after hearing all of the excuses/refusals, do it yourself! I
used to wonder if it was only on the Sumner that the 3rd and 2nd
class ratings were doing the onerous tasks while strikers stood by and watched!
The answer of course, was that at this stage of the war the new sailors were
mostly draftees rather than volunteers. While there was nothing wrong with their
courage it was just that they weren’t about to do anything unless they
absolutely had to! Fortunately, our tour of duty in the Brooklyn Navy Yard came
to a close with our shakedown cruise to Bermuda and the issue kind of resolved
itself. When we weren’t entering and leaving port on almost a daily basis and
when the O.D.’s learned that the world wasn’t coming to an end if the Battle
Light covers were not on, more important things occupied our minds! I spent four
years aboard two “tin can’s” and the Battle Lights were used exactly once
and they were never used while I was on board the Sumner!
From: Colin Benporath (CPO RAN 67)
Subject: Sleeping In
It was 1967 in Vietnam and I highlined aboard to do some repair work on the
Sumner. I was put in a bunk in the after seaman's mess, (below the aft turret),
it was 0345 and I had just about gotten to sleep when the General Quarters alarm
went. I hit the deck running and thought that I had no where to go, and
besides the CIC staff knew where I was so I got back in the bunk. Along comes a
chief, who pulled back the sheet and yells, "what the F%&@ are you
doing in your rack", when I rolled over and looked at him, he just said,
"sorry chief" and pulled the sheets back up. So I just lay there
listening to the guns fire. Then got up about 0600 and back to work on the
AN/WLR-1, before the highline transfer via the tanker back to Hobart.
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: Abandon Ship Drill
One of the drills that was often practiced, but never consummated
(thankfully), was the "Abandon Ship" drill. One day while somewhere in
the middle of the Mediterranean, the drill was executed and all hands dutifully
went to their abandon ship station. The usual announcement that was made was :
"All hands prepare to abandon ship...the nearest friendly land is _____
miles". Then the direction of the friendly land, relative to the ship's
orientation would follow. On this particular occasion the message was.....
"Nearest friendly land is three miles.... straight down". The ship was
actually about 300 miles from any land in about 16,000 feet of water. It causes
one to pause.
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: Check Your Oil Sir?
The 1956 Med Cruise was filled with interesting liberty ports: some romantic,
some exotic, but one of the most exciting for me personally was Iskenderun, Turkey. The primary purpose of this stop was for refueling, but the Captain
thought it would be a good locale for "dungaree liberty" with the
requisite supply of American beer which we had transported across the
"pond" for exactly this purpose. The ship was secured next to a buoy
which served as a marker and terminal for the oil supply line which traversed
the harbor underwater and originated from a reservoir nestled in the nearby
hills. Apparently arrangements had been made for the purchase of fuel from the
Turkish government which had dispatched a truck full of Turks in military garb
to the waterfront to meet us. "Us" being a small contingency of
"volunteers" consisting of a signalman with flags and radio set, a
rifleman, an electronics technician (yours, truly) and a Junior officer,
complete with a "45". When we arrived at the shore on our motor
whaleboat, we realized that collectively, we spoke about as much Turkish as the
Turks spoke English. The purpose of our visit was (I thought) to pay for the
fuel purchase. When the spoken word failed, and hand gestures appeared to be
unsatisfactory, the Turks, in a loud and emphatic way clearly indicated that we
should enter their vehicle. As we traveled up the unpaved road through the
hills, I had visions of being held ransom or imprisoned for being a threat to
their national security. When at last we stopped, the Turk in charge motioned
for us to exit the vehicle and to follow him. Not wishing to be involved in an
international incident, we of course accommodated him. He led us to the top of a
mound where a large steel plate was removed and another Turk was poised to lower
a long rod into the hole from which the plate was taken. After we arrived, he
inserted the rod, which had calibration marks, into the hole and then removed
it, motioning for us to observe the point where oil was present. They then began
pumping fuel into the line that served our ship while we stood at ease.
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: Every Ship's got a Jailhouse Lawyer
It was in the Spring of '56 while the AMS was plying Caribbean waters that
one of the guys in the ET Gang didn't get the word about an "all
hands" working party to replenish ship's stores via high-line at about 1800
hours. Actually, to be more precise, "Al" got the "word" but
decided he would be inconvenienced by such an operation. Ergo, Al triced up his
bunk with himself inside against the bulkhead. Following the loading activity,
which ended at about 0400 hours, all hands were mustered at quarters and it was
discovered that Al was missing. A frantic search was begun from stem to stern.
After about two fruitless hours, it was deemed necessary to arouse the Skipper
and report a suspected "man overboard". The Commodore (we were the
Flagship of Desron 16) was about to order all destroyers in his squadron to come
about and begin a search for Al, when someone discovered him still cutting logs
behind his bunk. Of course, Al was brought up before the "old man" on
a Captain's Mast and the Captain, Homer H. Haisten, (H.H.H.) discovered to his
dismay that Al had a service file with two pages of Captain's Masts entered.
This time he managed to get a Summary Court-Martial from which Al was assigned
two weeks restriction aboard ship and 20 hours of hard labor. He was turned over
to the Chief Snipe to perform his hard labor, after normal working hours. One
day, Al was in his dress whites getting ready to go ashore on a liberty boat.
The Chief spotted him on the quarterdeck, and said "Al, you're going
nowhere...you still owe me ten hours of hard labor". Al responded that he
had served his 14-day restriction and was free to go. A verbal dispute ended in
Al staying aboard, but he requested and got access to some books on Military
Legal issues. Now I should mention that Al had attended some college (pre-law, I believe)
before he decided to spite his parents and quit school to join the Navy. In boot
camp it was determined that Al was pretty bright so he was assigned to ETA
school. However, the world of academics just didn't suit Al so he managed to
flunk out and got assigned to the AMS. With his history of attempted schooling,
someone in authority felt Al would be a good candidate for OJT as part of the ET
gang. Bottom Line: Al's legal research convinced LT Sapp, the ship's legal
officer (and I suppose, the Captain) that Al was correct in interpreting Navy
law, and the hard labor period had to be bracketed by the restriction period. So
Al regained his liberty privileges and probably became inspired by his success
to enter the field of law as a civilian. After several hours, the fueling was complete and we were again required to
witness the oil mark on the rod when it was re-inserted. The volume dispensed
was thus calculated and we paid for the fuel. I had to admire the Turks for
their honesty and integrity, if not for their diplomacy. Unfortunately, this
interesting side trip cost me my ration of cold "Schlitz".
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: Never Stand Downwind on a Torpedo Launch
Being the owner of a terrific Zeiss Ikon 35mm camera that I was able to pick
up from ship's store at a bargain price during our Med cruise, I did a lot of
photographing both aboard ship and at liberty ports. One unforgettable moment, while poised just aft of the torpedo tubes, ready
to capture a torpedo in flight, a good buddy Torpedoman came by and quietly
whispered to me to move upwind of the tubes, without revealing why, and without
advising others. Luckily I trusted his judgment and found out at the launch why this was good
advice. A substantial amount of purple dye was expelled at the launch which
quickly covered all observers positioned at the lifeline just south of the
tubes. Apparently this was a rite of passage to be enjoyed by the
"salts" who observed the observers.
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: Northern Europe Good Will Tour, Anyone?
In the weeks and months just before July 1956 word had it that the AMS was
destined for a six-week good will cruise to Northern Europe. The scuttlebutt was
so convincing that a considerable number of personnel who were scheduled to be
separated from active duty during the cruise period were offered an opportunity
to extend their enlistment for ninety days in order to make the cruise. Northern
Europe being prime cruising territory, several men seized the opportunity. During the week prior to departure, loading parties were conducted for
replenishment of ship's stores, and a few boxes were "accidentally"
opened. Shorts and other semi-tropical gear were discovered to be among the
stores being loaded. This seemed odd for a Northern Europe cruise. On the eve of
our departure, the AMS was honored by a visit from Admiral "31-knot"
Arleigh A. Burke, CNO, who inspected ship's company, gave us a handshake, and
wished us fair seas. He recommended keeping our heads down while transiting the
Suez Canal. Of course we assumed he was only speaking in jest. Near the end of a two-week transit across the Atlantic, we were informed that
because of developing international situations in the Med, the AMS would deviate
from her original course, detouring for two weeks into the Med, with a singular
short stop at Valetta, Malta. Of course, as history recounts, the
"short" visit to the Med was extended to late in November, during
which time we remained mostly in the Eastern Med. Being a first-time visitor to the Med, I was filled with enthusiasm to see
the exciting and culturally rich liberty ports for Naples, Athens, Istanbul,
Beirut and several others. This was still very much "post-war" Europe,
and the vestiges of warfare with its resulting effect on the local economy was
staggering. While cruising to a scheduled stop at Genoa, Italy, the ship was turned about
abruptly to the tune of General Quarters, "This is not a drill". We
were obliged to fly the colors at conspicuous points and to illuminate the ship
with spotlights clearly declaring our status as a "neutral" American
vessel. As we came within the territorial limit of Egyptian waters, Egyptian PT
boats were dispatched to discourage us from entering the Harbor. Responding with
instructions from COM SIXTH FLEET, we signaled our intention to enter Alexandria
Harbor for the purpose of evacuating American Nationals. We spent three days in Alexandria Harbor. The city was under constant aerial
attack, and aircraft were being shot down within our view. We all wondered what
kind of ribbons we would end up with if we survived. Unable to depart because
intelligence had informed us the Harbor had been mined since our entry, both the
Anglo-French and Egyptian commands confirmed the presence of mines, but neither
would admit to having done so. Finally, a French Minesweeper offered to clear a
path for our exit. Following the Suez Crisis, we continued to patrol the Eastern
Med for about six weeks, with frequent dogging by Russian Subs. We patrolled the
coast of Israel within sight of Haifa and wondered whether we would be called to
port. Reputedly some German nationals were also awaiting evacuation from the
theatre of war. At one point our squadron DESRON 16 had been scheduled to
relieve our sister squadron that was cruising the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf.
The invasion of Egypt by Anglo-French forces provoked Egyptian president Nasser
to scuttle more than 50 vessels in the Suez Canal, thereby blockading it from
transit and essentially isolating our sister squadron. Had these events occurred
a week or two later, the AMS would have been among those ships cut-off from the
Med and would have likely been instructed to return home via a much longer
route. Finally, in late November, the AMS was instructed to return home to NORVA
with one last stop at Gibraltar prior to our crossing. We had now been at sea
almost forty days continuously, and a lot of guys developed "Channel
Fever" half way across the pond with approved "Leave" papers and
packed seabags at the ready. Northern Europe? Next time.
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: Swim Call
One of the advantages of cruising in semi-tropical waters was the custom of
shifting to "tropical conditions". Working hours commenced at 0630 and
all hands knocked off ship's work at 1330 at which time the ship stopped
engines, sea anchor was set, and "swim call" commenced. To ensure the
safety and comfort of the swimmers, Jacobs ladders were set out off the
Starboard beam, and motor whaleboats were placed about 100 yards out, with a few
men armed with M16s and BARs. Similarly armed personnel were stationed along the Starboard side of the
ship, thus bracketing the swimmers with (hopefully) a secure "Shark
Watch". This practice was observed frequently in the Med, but never in the
Caribbean for obvious reasons. One day while swimming somewhere off the coast of Greece, equipped with mask,
fins and snorkel, I was out about 30 yards and slightly astern and noticed the
ships screws began to turn slowly. Quickly surfacing, I realized that only a few
of us remained in the water, and the ship had begun to get underway. Fearing
that we had missed an early call to return to ship (being underwater a lot) I
truly thought we were not going to be missed until muster was held. After the
ship had traveled a few hundred yards it stopped, and a motor whaleboat was sent
to pick us up. As it turned out, shifting winds and/or sea currents had caused
alarm that the sea anchor line might become entangled with the screws, so the
ship shifted its position. Although we observed sharks many times while under way, I never (thankfully)
got to see any within our swim zones.
From: Stan Victor (ETR2
55-57)
Subject: The Drone Smasher's Club
Among the various war games and exercises conducted in the North Atlantic
were anti-aircraft drills. Typically, an unmanned radio-controlled aircraft (drone) would be maneuvered
in our vicinity by a piloted command aircraft, and we were to attempt "near
misses" with our twin-forties and 3" x 38's. Apparently, one gunner's
mate got a little too enthusiastic, and succeeded in actually hitting the drone,
effecting sufficient damage to put it out of control, but not enough to put it
into the sea. With its resulting erratic moves, the drone became a clear threat
to us as well as to other ships present in the operation. Our Captain, ordered
the drone to be hit and dropped out of the sky. When after countless rounds of
fire the drone continued to meander through the blue, the gunnery crew asked
what they should do if they ran out of ammunition. The Gunnery officer replied,
"shoot 'till you're out of ammo then throw spuds at it". When finally,
the drone was trashed, a collective sigh of relief could be heard. At a later
date the Allen M. Sumner was presented by some high level brass with an ornate
bronze plaque designating her an official member of "The Drone Smasher's
Club".
From: Stu Scherr (RD3
56-57)
Subject: Jaws !
I remember during a med cruise in the summer of 1976, we were sailing from
Greece to Naples, Italy, and it was hot as blazes. The Captain decided to
have a swim call to cool everyone off. So we stopped dumping garbage that
morning, and at about 1400, the captain stopped the ship and ordered the whale
boat out, with 2 men armed with M1 rifles to watch for sharks. The Captain
then announced "swim call" and guys started jumping into the water
from every conceivable location, gun mounts, 01 deck, etc. As a radarman,
I knew the depth of the ocean where we had stopped was about 2 miles deep.
After I jumped in, a thought raced thru my mind, that a shark could come up from
the depths, without anyone even seeing it. So I hightailed it back to the
ship so fast, that when I got alongside, I stuck my foot into the rope ladder so
hard, I scraped the skin off my feet on the barnacles below the waterline. Now
there is blood in the water. Needless to say, many of the guys who
witnessed what had happened to me, were out of the water as fast as they could
go also.
From: Stu Scherr (RD3
56-57)
Subject: Flying high
In August, 1956, on our way over to the med, we were crossing the Atlantic with
the other ships of DesRon 16, Moale 693 and Ingraham, 694. I was in the
mess hall eating lunch, when my operations officer came over to me and said that
I was going over to the Moale to be an observer during ASW exercises. I said,
"when we get into port." He said "No, in about 30 minutes, get
your butt up to portside amidships, your going over in a Boatswains chair."
I arrived where I supposed to be and let me tell you, I was one nervous dude.
They put a kapok on me and strapped me into the chair and told me if I went into
the drink, to release the buckle, and I would then float free, hopefully to be
picked up ASAP. The experience of going from one ship to another, while both are
doing about 15 to 20 knots, is an experience I will never forget. The
crossing only took about 30 seconds, but it seemed like 30 hours. The
water rushing under you and the ships rolling as you go up an down as the guys
try to keep the lines taught, is unbelievable. I stayed on the Moale
overnight and came back the next day. What a trip.
From: Stu Scherr (RD3
56-57)
Subject: All Ahead Flank
We were crossing the Atlantic in 1956, heading for Med, along with the carrier
Intrepid, 2 destroyer squadrons, and 2 cruisers. We were instructed during
the crossing, to refuel from the carrier. When that order was given, we
were off the port quarter of the carrier, about 4-5 miles away. The Captain,
Homer Hastings, announced to the crew, that he was going to show the Admiral
aboard the carrier, how well he could handle his ship. He ordered
"all ahead flank" and raced towards the carrier at top speed. He
than warned the engine room that they should be prepared to go from "all
ahead flank" to "all back full" when he gave the order. When we
were astern of the carrier, he ordered the helmsman, "left full
rudder". We then smartly turned, at full speed, towards the carriers
starboard side. When we were about 500 yards, he ordered "all Back
Full" Those poor guys in the engine room practically pulled up the
deck plates to reverse engines from all ahead flank to all back full. They
did it, and we pulled alongside the Intrepid in perfect position for refueling.
The Admiral sent the Captain a message, "well done, great piece of
seamanship" Of course, the guys in the engine room were wiped out.
From: Stu Scherr (RD3
56-57)
Subject: Blue Nose
I recall the AMS was chosen to attend President Eisenhower's inauguration
in January, 1956. We sailed up the Potomac River, which was frozen solid,
so we became an ice breaker. My compartment was below the mess deck, which
was below the waterline. Have you ever heard ice crunching against the
thin skin of a tin can? Let me tell you, it was like the loudest thunder
you ever heard, couldn't hear yourself talk. I also remember my last cruise,
became a Blue Nose by crossing the Arctic Circle in Sept.,1957. We had
liberty in Amsterdam, Holland for one week, along with our sister ships, the
Moale, 693, and The Ingraham, 694. It was the same week that the Russians
put Sputnik up. My buddy who was in the Army stationed in Munich, Germany,
got leave and met me at the dock as we pulled in. I spoke to the Exec, and
he let him stay on board for the entire week we were there. He said our
chow was better than the chow he got at the Army hospital he worked in. I was
also the mailman on the AMS, had a mailroom portside amidships, that was a bout
2 feet by 4 feet. I remember during out Med cruise and during the Suez Crisis,
we were at sea for over 35 days and had not had mail for about 2 weeks. I
had just gotten off the midnight watch and just hit the sack, when the Boatswain
rolled me out of my rack to tell me that the Forrestal was sending a helo over
with mail. I said can't it wait until daylight, and he said no way, get
your butt onto the fantail. The helo hovered over the fantail and dropped
16 bags of mail, which I had to sort at once, or the crew would have my neck.
I did so, for the entire day, and boy was I pooped.
From: Vernon Yielding
(FTG2 63-65)
Subject: What's a tube?
I remember one incident on the Sumner, when we kept getting the wrong electron
tube for our gun fire control equipment. There was a piece of equipment that
required a locking base, and they kept sending tubes that didn't lock in, so
when we were firing the guns, we had to station one of us by this equipment with
a stick to push these tubes back in! The guy with this duty was called,
"THE TUBE TAPPER!" As soon as we got back in port, some of our crew
went ashore and procured the right tubes. Now, our kids don't even know what a
TUBE is!
From: John Boeckeler (LTJG
66-68)
Subject: Say CHEESE
Do you remember, on the Vietnam deployment, when we had that NBC News Crew
aboard for a day or so? Well, the Commodore, Captain Althoff, thought it
would be a good idea if he had a filmed "press conference" and he had
a chart of the Vietnam coast set up in the Captain's cabin for that purpose.
Well, the Public Information guy who accompanied the News Crew could hardly
say no, even though he didn't want to waste film on Althoff explaining our
mission, etc. on camera. So they went ahead with it, except they didn't load any
film in the movie camera! Of course they didn't tell Althoff about that. So
everyone went away happy!
From: Bob Hibbert
(DK3 64-66)
Subject: What a way to go!
I recall my 1965-66 Med cruise experience was cut short because my one year old
son was found to require open heart surgery. Little did I realize at the time
that this emergency leave return trip would turn out to be the highlight, and
most exciting part, of our deployment. On 13 Jan 66, while we were at sea, a
helicopter from the carrier in our group arrived to pick up me, and a fellow
crew member. A work detail was quickly assembled on the fantail, and we watched
in amazement as the chopper crew lowered a line, with a small harness attached.
Getting into the harness was the easy part. The actual lifting off the deck was
the precarious part, as the chopper crew had to time the ascent when the fantail
was high on a swell. Otherwise, if we lifted off while the fantail was in a
trough, the fantail could snap back on us as it rode the next swell, and break
our legs. The chopper crew said to hold on tight, and don’t look down. Of
course, that’s exactly what you have to do in such a situation, and what a
scare I got. The chopper crewman laughed, as he watched my face turn snow white!
We finally made it safely aboard the chopper and enjoyed the ride to the
carrier. That was my first visit to a carrier flight deck, and I was very
impressed. After a short wait in the ready room, we were called to board a small
two engine prop plane. Once on board, we were told to buckle up, lean back in
our seats, and hold on tight. The plane was then fired off the catapult, and
although the plane dipped a bit under the flight deck, we were airborne and on
our way to Sicily. From Sicily, we took a similar plane to an Air Force facility
in France. They were getting ready to close down for a blizzard, but we were
able to get another hop on an Air Force flying boxcar. Shortly after getting
airborne, we discovered the heating system on the plane had malfunctioned, and
the only heat available was in the cockpit. So, during the long flight across
the Atlantic, we took turns defrosting our frozen bodies in the cockpit. Our
first stop on this flight to Dover, Delaware, was scheduled to be Goose Bay,
Labrador. Unfortunately, Goose Bay was closed down due to a winter storm, so the
flight crew was forced to continue on to a small military airport in the South
of Canada. We stayed there for a 24 hour breather, and then finally headed off
to Dover.
From: Vinson Holbrook
(SM2c 43-45)
Subject: AOL/AWOL
Two acronyms, often confused and sometimes of serious consequence to the
individuals charged with one or the other of the offenses. AOL, or Absent Over
Leave is the less serious of the two because it most often means that the
offender is, or was, returning to the ship or to the base but, for whatever
reasons, is simply late. This might happen because of difficulty getting a cab
or getting lost or, as once happened to me, I mis-read my leave papers,
mistaking 03-02-45 for 02-03-45 and turned up 24 hours AOL. The sanctions for
this kind of offense might range from a reprimand to a restriction to the ship
or, as in my case, the loss of an impending promotion to SM1/C from SM2/C. AWOL
on the other hand, suggests that the offender is not coming back, they left
without permission, in itself a punishable act. It may even be the first stage
of a desertion. The sanctions for this offense may be quite severe, ultimately a
firing squad if one goes AWOL in the heat of battle, in which case it would
probably be considered some form of cowardice. Just this past month the British
Army and government publicly apologized for the firing squad execution of 23
offenders from WWII, recognizing that most of them were probably suffering from
some kind of advanced stress syndrome and probably would have benefited more
from therapy than from a firing squad! What has this to do with the Allen M.
Sumner? Well, like many ships during the waning stages of WWII, the Sumner was
struck by a kamikaze plane and as the ship was disabled we were forced to
remain in Lingayen Gulf, the site of our mishap. We were not actually
participating in the action over this period but rather just observing and
recording. We watched 64 kamikaze attacks during that ten days and only
four of them missed! Given the appearance of a kamikaze the chance of its
hitting its target seemed pretty good. A conventional bomber pilot attacking a
target ship, if he wished to survive, must devote some of his attention to
evasive action. Depending upon his need for survival, this evasive action may
range from dropping his bomb five miles short of the target, turning off and
running like hell, in which case he is almost certain to survive but he is also
almost certain to miss the target! If he needs to be a hero and actually hit the
target he must devote more attention to the target and less to his own evasive
action, perhaps 50/50 or maybe even more! In either case he may strike the
target or he may not. Now, in the case of the kamikaze pilot the odds are
greatly altered. He is committed to striking the target and he does not need to
worry about any evasive action, or at least only at a very minimal level. This
being the case his chances of striking the target are hugely increased. Four
misses out of 64 attempts works out to a little over 94% hits and less than 6%
misses! This change in the odds of target survival was not lost on the thousands
of American and allied sailors watching the action and at least some of them
began to experience some doubt about returning to this 'no-win' situation after
their damaged ships had been repaired. There were rumors of a dramatic increase
in the number of "missed ships" AWOLS during the spring and early
summer of l945 at the Pacific coast ports and bases. Whether this was in fact
the case has never been revealed but the Navy's obvious reaction does suggest
that it was becoming a problem. At the extreme it was reported and rumored that
some sailors were actually abandoning their 20 and 40 mm gun emplacements in the
face of an impending kamikaze hit and that officers had to force some gun
crews to remain at their stations at gunpoint. If this was true of some ships,
it was certainly not true when the Sumner was hit Our kamikaze streaked
down out of the sun at high noon, no one saw him and no one offered any
resisting fire. I am sure that it all happened so fast that no one had time to
consider leaving or staying at their battle stations. Not that we didn't talk
about it, a few individuals announced that they "were going to leave their
machine gun when the next kamikaze got closer than a 100 yards or
so". I overheard one officer on the bridge proclaim that he was "going
to shoot the first SOB that tried to leave his gun station". Now, lets
return to Hunters Point Navy Yard in March of 1945. Our kamikaze damage
had been repaired and we were preparing to get under weigh for our return to the
"forward areas". It was about 0745 hours, the Special Sea Details had
been at work, all of the lines to the dock had been singled up, but the
gangplank was still in place. At 0800 hours the Exec left the bridge and went
down to the quarterdeck to confer with the Officer of the Deck to ascertain if
all of last nights liberty party had returned by the 0800 hours deadline. He was
informed that there was one AOL, a Seaman "William Smith" was missing.
The Exec then detailed two men from the Quarterdeck watch to get the lock shears
from the machine shop, go below to Seaman Smiths' locker and bunk, snip the lock
and pack his seabag and set it out on the dock. All of which was done by 0830
hours. At about 0845 hours Seaman Smith appeared, 45 minutes AOL, and tried to
come aboard. The Quarterdeck OD blocked his way and told him to stay on the
dock. The Exec by then had returned to the bridge and he found himself in an
embarrassing situation. He had very publicly ordered the bag packed and put on
the dock and he was faced with the decision to back down or "muddle
through". He chose the latter and shouted down to Seaman Smith that he was
to take his seabag and report to the office of the Navy Yard Commandant. Smith
shouldered his seabag and walked off up the dock, the Quarterdeck OD had the
gangplank dragged aboard., the remaining lines were detached from the dock and
with the help of a tug we began to inch away from the dock and were soon on our
way to Hawaii and points west. It was not a fast trip, we were assigned as an
anti-submarine screen to a large convoy and the top speed of the slowest ship
was about 12 knots. Following a zig-zag course, this took us about 10 days. At
Pearl Harbor, we detached from the convoy and entered Middle Lock, headed for
the fuel dock. I was on watch and as we were re-fueling I noted that the central
signal tower at Pearl was flashing me with his light indicating that he had a
message for the Sumner. I called out for a writer and began receiving the
message. It was addressed to the Allen M. Sumner, DD692, attention Executive
Officer and it was from the Commandant, Hunter's Point Navy Yard. The message
read, "Seaman William Smith reported to my office at 0900 hours, Mar, 21,
1945, stating that he had received verbal orders from you to do so, please
verify." I handed the message to the Exec, he read it and asked me for a
reply form on which he wrote, "Seaman William Smith AWOL from Sumner as of
0800 hours, Mar. 21" and instructed me to send it. Needless to say, this
was a very difficult message to send and needless to say, to my knowledge,
Seaman Smith was never heard from again by anyone on the Sumner. Rumors floated
around of course, the most often heard being that he was being made an example
of and that he had received a General Court Marshal and got 20 years hard labor.
We can only guess what happened to him and hope that whatever it was it might
have been reviewed later. There was a period during the first year or two after
the war in which those particularly unjust sentences handed down during the
emotional turmoil of the war were reviewed and in many cases they were set aside
or drastically reduced and while we will never know maybe he ultimately got off
with a BCD and time already served.
From: Vinson Holbrook (SM2c
43-45)
Subject: Hokey-Pokey Man
Looking at the photos from World War II reminded me of a story about James Burns
(SM2c 44-46).
During our stay at Hunter's Point Naval Yard to effect the repairs from our
kamikaze hit, we were given explicit orders by the Exec, Lt. Hines, that no
one was to cross over to the wharf unless they were going ashore or on some
specific assigned errand. One evening there appeared on the dock a
"hokey-pokey" man selling ice cream and Burns decided to ignore the
orders and went over to the dock and bought an ice cream cone.
He was observed by Lt Hines and was immediately put on report. At the
Captain's Mast hearing on the matter he was sentenced to "no leave or
liberty for the remainder of our stay in San Francisco". He called
his family back in Connecticut and told them of his situation. His
mother called her member of Congress, Clair Booth Luce,
(also the wife of Time/Life publisher Henry Luce) and within the next day
Burn's punishment was set aside and he was able to go ashore with rest
of us!
From: Bob Bourassa (QM3
61-63)
Subject: How close did we come?
I remember an incident during the Cuban Missile Crisis that is interesting and
perhaps has historical importance. We've recently come to understand how close
we came to going to war during the "blockade". The Russians and the
Cubans were waiting for us to fire the first shot which would have given them
the reason to send the missiles into the United States. That event very nearly
happened and to my knowledge, it has never been reported. We intercepted an
inbound freighter and trailed it for several hours. We attempted to communicate
with it and would not get a response. We went to GQ. During that time Captain
Flynn had been communicating with his superiors as to what to do ( I presume). I
was in the wheelhouse when this was going on. Captain Flynn had two written
messages sent down to the radio shack and after the first message was returned
to him, he instructed the guns to be turned toward the freighter. At this time,
the freighter was about 1000yds off our port side. After some time, when the
freighter failed to respond, Captain Flynn sent the second message down to the
radio shack and when that message was answered, I believe Captain Flynn was
going to give instructions to fire. As this was about to happen, the freighter
came to a stop. It was DIW for some time and then later, started to back down.
The freighter backed down for some time, stopped and then turned around and
sailed eastward. We followed it for quite some time and then left. As I remember
it, this incident took about a day to evolve.
I have often thought about that incident and have wondered if Captain Flynn was
given permission to fire on the freighter. Did Captain Flynn have permission to
fire? What would the consequences have been if we had fired? How close did we
come? I would really like to hear from others who were there at the time and who
can confirm this event.
From: Scott Kopfstein
(SK3 66-69)
Subject: Serving in the Arctic
Last week's snow in the Southeast reminded me of a story dating back to 1969
when I was in my last year in the Navy stationed in Norfolk. My wife was with me
and we had an apartment about two miles from the base. I got up to go to the
ship one morning in December and low and behold we had had a total of one inch
of snowfall overnight. Well, being from Cleveland I told my wife I should leave
a little early so I won't be late for muster. After trying several streets, I
couldn't get through to the ship so I went back home. I had never seen so many
car wrecks in my life and never have again since I got out. Well, I called the
ship and told them of my dilemma and they were astounded that I had even tried
to get in so the LCDR standing OD told me to stay home for the day and not go
out. My wife couldn't believe it either, needless to say I did what the LCDR
said! I stayed home that day and got totally smashed. I'll never forget that one
inch snowfall that day. I tell the story to my friends today and it puts them in
tears!
From: Kelly Brown (EM2 66-68)
Subject: Get your Red Hots
Shipboard life, even inport, can sometimes take, ingenuity, cunning,
stealth and determination. This tale is the "proof" of that
statement. At sea, a hunger attack around midnight can be cured by that which is
called "mid-rats". Midnight rations are normally designated for the
on-going mid-watch, but cookie usually doesn't mind when the off going watch
grabs a humble sandwich also, and perhaps a few other hungry souls suffering
insomnia or a growling stomach. When in port the story is a bit different,
especially for the duty crew. The delights of mid-rats only occur at sea.
What’s a hungry shipmate to do when facing the dilemma of no mid-rats to
fill the belly? Here begins one such tale. I was attending to my usual inport duties as duty electrician and Sounding
& Security watch (see other related tale). As I made my usual rounds
through out the Sumner I became aware of the aroma of cooking, not a normal
smell, there in the middle of the night, especially in the berthing area. Much
of the crew is ashore with family and friends, and typically only the single
lads and duty sections are aboard. Mid-rats do not occur in port, nor in
berthing areas, so I decided to investigate this unexpected smell. A quick
tour of snipe berthing, and my nose lead me to the shipfitter's shop. Upon
opening the shop door I discovered my friend SFP3 Don Shoults, back to the shop
door, busy about his cooking chores. His usual greeting of "Hi
Brown" (completely in Donald Duck voice) was followed by "Want a hot
dog?" The greeting came from over his shoulder. I still couldn't see what
he was cooking with. My first thought was an oxy-acetylene torch and a metal
plate, the normal tools of his rate. A quick check for the usual torch hoses,
showed them stowed in their rack. Don reached for a piece of bread, for the
now cooked hot dog and the mystery was solved. There firmly chucked in the
bench vise was the "R" Division iron, normally used to press our
white uniforms before going ashore. The cooking was going well, with little
mess, as the grease from the dog was disappearing into the conveniently placed
holes in the upturned iron face. These normally used for exiting steam from
the inner chamber, now obviously doubling as a grease trap. The next day, it seems there was some kind of problem with the division
steam iron. Something about ruined whites, some sort of staining problem? Our
Don, of course, was not to be found.
From: Kelly Brown (EM2 66-68)
Subject: Sounding & Security
The inport mid-watch for a lowly snipe is entitled Sounding and Security,
and generally consists of monotonous, never changing readings on various
machinery, checking locked doors to ensure they have not unlocked themselves
during the past hour and generally making sure the ship is secure and there is
no flooding of unmanned compartments. To discover this undetected flooding, the watch stander has a list of
compartments, which have "sounding tubes", a metal pipe which
funnels its way to the below compartment from above. The bottom of the tube is
open and the top has a watertight metal pipe cap. The measuring device
consists of a brass weight affixed to a metal tape measure, and the
measurement is taken by lowering said weight down the pipe until it hits the
metal plate at the bottom. When retrieved the water line on the weight and
measuring tape reflects the depth of standing water or condensation in the
below compartment. Since 99% of the spaces are eternally dry this routine
quickly becomes monotonous. But herein lies the beauty and danger involved
with this watch. Setting the stage, heavy brass weight, noisy metal tape, all
metal ship, all metal sounding tube and cap. As you will recall this is the
mid-watch, your basic middle of the night, and your shipmates are fast asleep.
Lowly snipe enters the sleeping compartment, above the unmanned space to be
sounded and takes his reading. You may be asking yourself, "What can be
the danger in this?" "The beauty"? Ah, the danger is in making
too much noise in snipe country and being killed or maimed by your freshly
awakened, enraged fellow snipes. The beauty you ask? The beauty lies in
escaping said same killing and maiming in deck division sleeping compartment,
as lowly snipe jubilantly free falls said weight and tape down the tube,
resoundingly striking the bottom plate below, rapidly rewinds the tape and
makes his escape from the awakening, enraged deck division shipmates!
From: Bobby Moore (MMC 61-69)
Subject: Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds"
This doesn't sound true but here goes nothing. The difference in a sea story and
a fairy tale, The sea story starts , this is no s???, and a fairy tale starts
once upon a time. But this is no fairy tale, nor sea story, but a smelly true
tale. Once after a Personal Inspection in Mayport, Liberty Call. So off the
Quarterdeck I go, still in service dress whites, I was about 20-30 yard. from
the Quarterdeck and of course I had to readjust my white hat. Just as I pulled
it off, to readjust and reshape it, "Splat", came a wad from the sky,
landing in the top of my head. Not putting the hat back on I went back to the
ship. Don't remember who had the Quarterdeck Watch, but he told me to put my hat
on, I just bent over a little so he could see, he gagged so hard I thought he
would throw up, at that time I made my way on across before he recovered. A
quick trip through the shower and I was off and running again. So I can say for
real I've been S??? on!
From: Al Carpenter (LCDR 56-58)
Subject: Material Inspection
Admiral Claude V. Ricketts was a former DD engineering officer and also at one
time COMDESFLOT4. During his tenure as Flotilla Commander, I was X.O. on the
Sumner. We were scheduled for a routine material inspection and expected the
Force Engineering Officer to be the Chief Inspector. About 0930 that morning
word came from the tender that the Admiral himself would be the Chief Inspector.
This sent shock waves throughout the ship and it really upset the Captain who
was a shaky person to begin with. We hustled to get the sideboys ready and tidy
up loose ends as the short notice permitted. At 1000 the Admiral came aboard in
the uniform of the day. After customary honors at the quarterdeck, the Admiral
went to the Wardroom, all the officers around the table and he outlined the
scope of the inspection. He told us he knew there were lots of things wrong with
the ship and he knew the operating schedule had been heavy. But it was necessary
for the good of the ship to find all of the discrepancies and he knew what to
look for and he would find them. After he finished his remarks, he asked the
Captain if he could go to his cabin to change into his inspection outfit. When
the Admiral came aboard his Aide accompanied him. He had an oversize athletic
bag, must have been 4 or 5 feet long and he had lots of stuff in it. We didn't
know what was in it, but he took it to the Captain's cabin. When the Admiral
came out, he was wearing overalls, ball cap, steaming shoes, held a 5-cell
flashlight about as long as my arm (symbol of a far-reaching inspection), and
said "Captain, are we ready?" At this, I thought the Captain would
fall apart. A very thorough inspection was carried out which lasted about 2
hours. Then the Admiral returned to the Wardroom and went over everything. As
expected, the marks were quite low, but they were on the mark and cut out the
work ahead. Again the Sumner was another example of a WWII burn out. It is a
tribute to the ship's engineers that after twenty years of hard steaming, they
were still able to get away from the pier and make six month deployments to the
Med, and also, in one case at least, a round the world cruise. My hat always
goes off to those hardy engineers, the unsung heroes of the Fleet. (an excerpt
from the February 2001 issue of The Bucket & Swab, newsletter of the
USS Lowry (DD770) Association with kind thanks to Kenny Pounders)
From: Jan Tenhoeve
(SFFN 65-67)
Subject: The 'other' Fireman
It was a strange feeling knowing that I didn't have to go if I didn't want to.
"It's just a matter of putting in a Chit", he had explained.
"It's 'that' simple". Then he kind of grinned and said, "you need
some time to think it over. I'll be back". At this point in time, that was
several weeks ago. Now time was running out on me, and I knew he'd be back for
his answer. Cause soon we'd be shovin' off on the 'Nam' cruise. The guy was an
SFFN, same as I was, from the USS Noa. So it was all simple, like he said. A
Done Deal, if I wanted it - "We'll be - just - swapping ships". Sumner
was going to 'Nam' and the Noa - well, nowhere. I could sit the remainder of my
hitch in Mayport - 'peacefully'. But there had been a lot of things to consider,
and I knew the 'Nam' cruise wasn't going to be an easy one. Weighing heavily in
the decision to be made was wanting to see more foreign countries. And there
were some other things. Like - having your own Planetarium, it seemed, in the
night sky while at sea. And that super excited feeling you get when pulling into
Port overseas. And things like - having the movie projector go flying all over
the place while watching a flick during rough seas. Being pinned against the
bulkhead by icy-cold water while refueling. Midrats. No sleep. Chief Beasley
looking to give me extra duty all the time. Getting lost in Naples. The latest
Beatle records in Gibraltar. Chief Beasley chewing me out even during liberty in
Malta. And Sete, France. But I had come a long way since the 'Yellow Paint
Incident' preceding our arrival in Naples '65. And I no longer upchucked from
seasickness from places like the Starboard Lookout to Main Deck where officers
may be standing (Shhhhh). Well. All that. But the big decision lay elsewhere.
(Have your box of Kleenex ready?-----) I had gotten used to the Sumner by now.
It's Crew that is. Or - No! - maybe they had gotten used to 'Me'. And my Sixties
Rock 'n Roll albums, that is. Would the USS Noa put up with all this? Another
ship, though identical looking to the A.M.S. would only be a really strange
place to me. And so he came by again one morning, the other Fireman. We looked
at each other. And I didn't have to say anything. He knew the answer. (written
by a Vietnam Veteran)
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