U.S.S. Allen M. Sumner DD-692
Sea Stories - Chapter 6

From: Bob Hibbert (DK3 64-66)
Subject: Vesuvius
Naples, Italy, in October of 1965, was quite an interesting port-of-call. Just before liberty call, some of the “old salts” cautioned us about the notorious hucksters of old Napoli. And it was all true! By the time I had gone the length of a football field, I had been propositioned for everything from a knife, drugs, a woman, to a machine gun. How bizarre!  For someone who is a history buff, our tour to the city of Pompeii was especially interesting. It was an amazing experience to walk through the streets of this ancient city, which had been entombed by volcanic ash in AD 79. As evidenced by the extensive restoration efforts, the flood of volcanic ash acted as a time capsule in preserving the city. Many buildings remained intact, including spectacular frescoes on the inside walls.  Our next visit was to the perpetrator of this massive entombment, the grand Mt. Vesuvius. Our tour bus slowly snaked its way through myriad hairpin turns up to the tram station. From there, the tram ferried us up to the summit of the gigantic volcano. We walked along the summit path until we reached a point where the path was only about a yard wide. On one side, the outer surface of the volcano dropped away in a steep slope to the plain 4267 feet below. On the other side of this precarious footpath was an equally steep slope falling down into the deep smoking bowels of the mountain. The still smoldering caldera presented an ominous sight to behold – definitely not a place into which I would like to fall!

From: Bob Hibbert (DK3 64-66)
Subject: Honor
My first cruise aboard the Sumner was the LANTMIDTRARON ’64 North Atlantic midshipman cruise. I can still remember one particular Middie, who began hanging over the rail with a nauseous stomach – as soon as the mooring lines were taken in!  The North Atlantic was quite rough, and cold at that time of year. Being a “boot” seaman, I was initially assigned to a port side open-bridge watch station. As I soon discovered, in the raging swells it quite often appeared that the Sumner was more of a submarine than a destroyer. After experiencing a few cold and wet nighttime watches on the open-bridge, I decided there must be a better alternative. So, when openings became available for head & compartment cleaners, I was among the first to volunteer. For someone who hates cold weather, that change turned out to be quite an improvement.  When we reached Europe, the Sumner had the distinct privilege of transiting the Keil Canal. It was a fascinating experience to watch as we proceeded through the canal, with beautiful farmland passing by on both sides of the ship. As we exited the canal and continued into the Baltic Sea, it was at the same time both exciting, and somewhat disconcerting, as we were shadowed by a Russian gunboat for sometime.  Our first port-of-call was the picturesque German town of Flensburg. As we rounded the fiord leading to the dock, we could hear a brass band playing to welcome us. The locals were very friendly, offering hospitality in their homes, and free rides on their transportation system. And dear old Flensburg was where I was first introduced to the concept of drinking un-refrigerated beer, which to this day I still enjoy.  Rotterdam, Netherlands, was a beautiful city, where once again the locals were very friendly and courteous to us “yanks.” At liberty call, two shipmates and I went ashore, determined to get some distance from the pier so we could better observe the local atmosphere. After walking a considerable distance, we stopped at a local tavern for some refreshment. Although no one there could speak English, we were immediately welcomed. One older man in particular appeared to be extremely pleased to see us, and kept motioning toward the tavern door. Between his pantomime, and some broken English from a young schoolgirl, we surmised that the man wanted us to follow him to his favorite tavern, which was located a few blocks away.  Now, as we all know, going off with a complete stranger in a foreign town is not necessarily a very prudent thing to do, but since the gentleman seemed so sincere, and since there were three of us, we decided to go along with him. Shortly thereafter, he escorted us through the door of “his” tavern. Inside there was a sizable group of older patrons who took one look at our uniforms, and wholeheartedly welcomed us with cheers.  As best as we could determine, these folks had apparently been rescued by U.S. forces during the latter part of World War II, either by airlifts, ground forces, or both. In any event, to a man they all wanted to express their appreciation – by buying each of us a beer. And if a husband and wife were there, they each had to buy each of us a drink. What a challenge it was for us to accept all that beer! If we declined a drink, that would be considered to be an insult – so we had no choice but to graciously accept their offerings.  Many hours later, as we sloshed our way back toward the ship, we decided it would a good idea to stop for something to eat. A fairly classy looking restaurant was situated on a small bluff overlooking the area where the Sumner was moored. Inside the restaurant was a small group of patrons who were dining leisurely while listening to piano music. After we ordered our food, the waiter returned with a round of drinks. Without question, this was the last thing we wanted to see after the afternoon we had just experienced. He said the drinks were provided in our honor by a couple, who were dining across the room from our table. Once again, we had no choice but to accept their generous offer. At this point, the music changed, and again in our honor, the piano player began to play a medley of Gershwin tunes.  The honors bestowed upon us that day were not due to anything we personally did. The honor was upon our uniforms, in recognition of the accomplishments of those American servicemen who went before us. It was our privilege to accept the honors in their names.

From:  John Edmunds (BT3 48-52)
Subject:  Home Sweet Home
From the most recent Newsletter, it seems that there has been a thinning of the herd...Seems kinda sad...some so young....I was talking yesterday with one of my buddies (George Stroebel) from the AMS. He lives in The Buffalo area, in a little town called Mayville. We have kept in touch for a long time. We were wondering, if there is some way to get a list of all the old crew, their addresses, etc.  ..I would hate to think I lived close to an "X" crew mate and not know it.......I have only ran into two over the years...One I recognized, and the other the guys wife noticed my cap w/AMS on it. Both times it was in a restaurant....Anyway its just a thought.....I am mailing in my 07 fee today. Don't cut me off! I also ordering print of the AMS drawing as well...I have, on my wall a picture of every home I ever lived in. From a share croppers shack on a red dirt farm in rural Georgia to my current "mansion" Ha Ha .....I consider  the Sumner was my home for four years........Just a little funny memory before I close. Everyone has some........." I was coming up almost two years of my three year enlistment....deep down in the bilges of the forward fireroom cleaning an oil spill....taking a little break, I took out a pack of cigarettes  to have a smoke.....They were Parliaments brand.....there motto "Where particular people congregate "Ha" I read that, and about that time, somebody yelled down "they making a list of anyone wanting early discharge, do you want sign up for one"!!!.....There I was, hot, covered in nasty oil....I thought, how sweet it is......before the paperwork was complete, the Korean war heated up, and the bottom line, I got extended a year. So going from the thought of getting out in two years, I did four..........I was one unhappy "SNIPE".........Oh well I enjoyed it all......You can put this your sea story bin...I always like to read them....I read them all......Have a good day! J. C. Edmunds....13329 Southshore Lake Conroe, TX 77304.....Phone no. 936-588-7623....Cell No. 936-788-4563....e-mail address jaycee1@consolidated.net.  Don't have a phone on my golf cart Ha!

From: Bob Hibbert (DK3 64-66) 
Subject: Gun Crew fun
Operational readiness is always a primary objective, and that means a lot of gunnery practice. During my early days on the Sumner, my GQ station was in the forward gun mount, where my job was to catch the expended brass powder cases, and toss them out of the gun mount. While we were practice firing one day, one of the powder cases jammed in the breech of the port side gun. Our gun captain, BM3 Tony Cowart, sounded the alarm, and ordered all personnel out of the mount. After some very delicate maneuvering, Tony and I were able to retract the ram, and dislodge the bent powder case. Tony climbed out of the gun mount, and while handling the bent powder case as if it were a ticking time bomb, I gingerly handed it outside to Tony, who turned around and tossed it overboard. A happy ending to a very tense situation.

 

From: Bob Hibbert (DK3 64-66) 
Subject: Water Hours
Following a full day of under way drills in the Caribbean, we had pulled into Guantanamo Bay to take on provisions. Unfortunately, before the re-supply could be completed, we received orders for immediate deployment due to the crisis in the Dominican Republic. Our patrol duty was monotonous, and after a protracted period of time on station, our supply of basic necessities, in particular fresh water, began to run low. After some time, extended water-hour restrictions of showers began to make living conditions below decks quite intolerable. We were pleasantly surprised one day to hear an announcement that we had picked up indications of an approaching rain storm on radar, and that all interested hands should assemble on the main deck (sans clothing) with their soap and towels in hand. It was an absolute delight to soap up in this fresh water shower…until the rain abruptly disappeared! Try as we might, we were left high and dry. Repeated efforts to re-locate the elusive rainstorm proved unsuccessful. We were a bit cleaner than before, but were now caked with itchy soap residue – ugh!

 

From: Bob Hibbert (DK3 64-66) 
Subject: Emergency Breakaway!
Refueling at sea is always a very dangerous and tenuous operation, requiring both skilled personnel and functional equipment. My job during this operation was handling the signal paddles, and my station was located on the hangar deck. One day, while we were refueling from, I believe, an oil tanker, the tanker lost steerage, causing an extremely dangerous situation. Word came down ordering an “emergency breakaway”, so I immediately proceeded to signal the breakaway order with my signal paddles. Taking my job very seriously, and perhaps foolishly, I remained totally focused on signaling the breakaway message, even as the two ships came perilously closer to each other. I heard a lot of yelling behind me, while that enormous wall of gray steel seemed to grow larger before my eyes. Turning around toward the yelling, I saw our entire working party huddling inside the hangar for protection. They were yelling at me to drop the paddles, and get inside before the two ships collided. With that, I came to my senses, and made a mad dash for the safety of the hangar. At about the same time, BM3 Tony Cowart ran out onto the hanger deck in an attempt to unshackle the transfer line, which was still connecting the two ships. Unfortunately, before he could complete the task, the two ships distanced themselves from each other, and the transfer line tightened dangerously. Concerned that the line could part, Tony ran back to the hangar. He then thought carefully about the situation, and decided to once again attempt to unshackle the transfer line. But the line stretched tighter, and caution caused Tony to hesitate and back off. After a few dangerous tries, the line finally slackened sufficiently, and Tony was able to open the shackle and release the transfer line. That was indeed a job well done.

from: Donald E. Spangler (S2c 45-46) 
Subject: The Captain wants you!
Three hundred miles off the coast of Japan, the night August 5, 1945, I was shaken awake by the Sailor on Duty and told, “ The Skipper wants you in his quarters immediately.” To an eighteen year old Seaman 2nd class, to be awakened in the middle of the night and told this was a shock and a serious matter. What could I have done that the Skipper wanted me at this hour? Dressing very fast, I accompanied the Watch to the Captain's Cabin of the USS Allen M. Sumner (DD-692). I was so scared I could hardly speak.  The Skipper wanted to know if I lived in Knoxville, Tennessee and if I knew where Oak Ridge, Tennessee was . He informed me they had just picked up a report on short wave radio that a city in Japan had been completely demolished by a huge bomb of some sort and he wanted me to tell him everything I could about Oakridge, Tennessee.  Oak Ridge was a well kept secret. It was kind of a joke that only three men knew what they were building, and when it was complete they were going to shoot them.  All this I told my Skipper, I said that it looked like a big Army Base to me. He had no information at that time about the type of bomb it was or anything else except it was built at Oak Ridge, twelve miles west of Knoxville. (My Home Town).  That bomb kept me from having to go into Japan as an invading force. Instead we joined the third Fleet about a week later and went into Tokyo Bay as a winning team and signed the Peace Treaty. We on the Allen M. Sumner Stayed there long enough to get to ashore two times on restricted shore leave. I was there at the very end of the war and feel so fortunate I never saw any action or any fighting.  Then some big shot wanted a destroyer with a good war record at the dock in Longview, Washington for Navy Day 1945, and the USS Allen M. Sumner (DD-692) had a good record of seven planes shot down. She took a suicide plane with  a loss of sixteen men there in the Pacific, and I had replaced one of these men,  so we got to come home fast.  We painted and cleaned the ship on the way home, arriving in Portland, Oregon, about three weeks later at the mouth of the Columbia River. The next day we proceeded 80 miles up the Columbia River to the City of Longview, Washington, where we were received by the Mayor and the entire city as heroes. The key to the city was presented to us.  After a thirty day trip home I rejoined my ship in San Diego, California and started preparing for the A-bomb test in the Pacific. At this time I had enough points to get out, after hearing that there would be a ten-foot tidal wave at the one-hundred mile point where we would be on patrol, at this point I decided to return to Tennessee!

From: Tim Blackburn (Charley's son) 
Subject: It's a small world
With World War II raging, a young farm boy from Columbus County in North Carolina decided to join the Navy and serve his country. After Basic Training, the young man was assigned to a new ship, the USS Allen M. Sumner. The Sumner was sent to the South Pacific to support the American Fleet.
Along about the same time, another young man from Nash County in North Carolina also joined the Navy. He was assigned to the destroyer USS David W. Taylor. The Taylor was also assigned to the South Pacific.
On January 5, 1945, The David W. Taylor was engaged in shore bombardment along with several other ships. The mission was located in the Valcano Islands off Chichi Jima. The Taylor struck a mine and the resulting explosion killed 4 sailors. It caused considerable damage to the forward portion of the hull. They received temporary repairs at Saipan and headed to Pearl harbor.
The next day, January 6th, the Sumner along with several other destroyers were attacked by suicide planes of the Japanese Air Force. The Sumner was struck by one of the planes. Damage to the aft portion of the ship was extensive and 16 sailors were killed with many others injured. She was also sent on to Pearl Harbor for repairs.
The Sumner and Taylor were then sent on to San Francisco. The two ships embodied the classic case of the blind leading the blind. The mine had destroyed the anti submarine gear on the Taylor. She had no defense against a submarine attack. The suicide plane had destroyed Sumner's radar equipment and she had no air defense sensing capabilities. They were assigned to protect one another. They made it to San Francisco and docked next to each other.
Neither of these men were married or had ever met. Neither of them knew the name of the ship that they had paired with on the trip to San Francisco. Our family discovered this in 1994. The young man aboard the Sumner was my father Charles V. Blackburn and the young man aboard the Taylor was my wife's father, Walter F. Bell. What are the odds?

From: Ellsworth "Gator" Russell (COX 44-45)
Subject: Kamikaze's and ham sandwiches
As a trainer on the end of the #1 mount, I had the opportunity to make a very important 1MC announcement onboard ship as I watched the approaching Kamikaze plane.  The crew was instructed not to fire, likely because the plane had already been hit, however, the path of travel was headed right for the Sumner.  The wing of the plane clipped a guy wire, causing it to flip and swing upon impact mid-ship.  Amidst the damage and destruction, I remember only one 3rd class cook and myself were there to assist in feeding the crew, making ham sandwiches and coffee. The ship had to be put in floating drydock, then we traveled to Pearl Harbor and then on to San Francisco to be refitted.

From: Don Wertz (RM3 52-54) 
Subject: We're All Dead!
Since dates have tendencies to be less accurate when you get up in years, I don't remember if it was our first or second trip to GTMO late 1952 or early 1953. A few of the crew were interested in skin diving and found that on base, one of the stores had a good price on diving gear, and bought the usual, masks, flippers, spear guns, etc, and brought them back on board. We were anchored out on a single buoy and had no other ships along side.  There were two or three detachments of UDT's (Underwater Demolition Teams) also in GTMO on practice at this time.  Their job was to get aboard the ships in the harbor, unnoticed and set off a flare to signify the ship had been blown up and the ship's Captain would have to contact the base Commander as to why his ship was lost.  So, all the sentries were alerted to this fact and were advised to be on extra lookout for swimmers or anything out of the ordinary. I think if was about midnight and a new BOOT was standing the forward  bow watch.  As he went around the forward 5"38 mount. One of the guys came up out of the hatch with his skin diving garb on and yelled to the watch that he was dead and the ship sunk. From what I recall he threw his M1 over the side and ran to the quarterdeck yelling that were dead and sunk.  Of course, by the time the Officer of the Deck got up to the gun mount, there was nothing out of the ordinary and the "Frog Men" had vanished. I can't recall his name, but I'm sure he made a name for himself that night.

From: Hank Thomas (Motu-12 SPS-40 Tech Rep)
Subject: Chiefs never forget
I was in San Juan in September 1965 aboard the USS LaSalle (LPD-3) when my presence was requested by Sumner. I bummed a ride aboard an LST and joined Sumner in the Dominican Republic. After a picnic and a ball game on the beach amid numerous signs of Yankee muerto, Sumner sailed to San Juan. While there, a Chief came aboard to ask a favor of Commander Baty; he had to take a small oiler (YOG-89) to Gitmo, and wanted to tail Sumner, since we were going there also. Commander Baty told him he was glad to oblige, and the trip to Gitmo was without incident. Commander Baty, several other officers, and I were having a few drinks at the "O" Club when midnight caught us. One of the officers told us about a Chief's Club that was rumored to keep late hours, so we decided to give it a try. We found the club, but it was very dark, and very quiet. Commander Baty knocked loudly for awhile, when finally a voice from inside asked who we were and what we wanted. Commander Baty identified himself, and the door was quickly opened; the Chief who had tailed us from San Juan was inside with some friends, and he invited us in. It was a great night!

From: James McDonald (ET3 53-54)
Subject: My first watch
After completing ET "A" school at Great Lakes, I was assigned to Sumner in the Spring of 1953, and reported in at the CE piers in Norfolk, Virginia. Within a few days our destroyer division, Sumner, Moale, Purdy, and Ingraham, left Norfolk to escort the Lake Champlain to Korea. But before heading across the Atlantic for the Straits of Gibraltar, our destroyer group and the carrier were all assigned to participate in OPERATION LANFLEX, a large exercise with many other ships simulating wartime conditions, which was being conducted off Cape Hatteras, an area notorious for rough seas. Except for a day trip to Bear Mountain on a Hudson River sightseeing boat and a few rides on the Staten Island Ferry, I had never been to sea before and had no idea what to expect. The second day at sea, Larry "Whizzer" White, the lead ET,  asked me if I thought I was ready to stand a watch. I said that I thought that I could handle it, and so I stood my first watch at sea that night, a mid watch. The ET shack in those days was a little compartment right next to CIC, and standing a watch meant hanging around CIC waiting for some of the radar or radio equipment to malfunction. It was a great way to catch up on letter writing or reading since an ET on watch had absolutely nothing to do unless something went wrong. About two o'clock in the morning, I got a call from one of the radiomen that the TBL in emergency radio was down. This was it, my first opportunity to diagnose and fix a real problem aboard ship after almost ten months of intensive schooling in electronic theory at Great Lakes. I was confident that I could do the job but more than a little nervous nevertheless. I told the radioman, "no sweat" and after picking up a few tools set out for emergency radio, which was on the starboard side, main deck beneath the torpedo hoist. As I walked aft from CIC and opened the door to the 01 deck, all the lights in the passageway clicked off and I stepped out onto the 01 deck, which was in absolute pitch darkness. Closing the door, I looked around and after waiting a few minutes to adjust to the darkness found that I still could not see my hand in front of my face. There was no moon, the skies were overcast and because of the LANFLEX exercise, no running lights or lights of any kind. We must have been doing about fifteen or more knots in fairly heavy swells because the ship would roll over on one side, hang there for a few seconds and then start a slow roll over the the other side and hang there before starting back again. I was on the port side of the 01 deck and had to get to the starboard side and so I began my journey by feeling my way across the noses of the five torpedoes until I reached the lifeline on the starboard side. I worked my way to the ladder, climbed down a few rungs and waited in the dark trying to time the roll of the ship. Each time the ship went under on the starboard side, a wall of water would come roaring down the deck. As I figured it, the trick was to get to the bottom of the ladder just as the ship was beginning to recover from its starboard roll, feel my way around a big obstruction to get to the hatch on the other side, undog the hatch to the torpedo shack, open it, close it, and start dogging it down before the ship slipped under in another starboard roll. After some time, I felt that I had the timing down about as good as I was ever going to get it, and when Sumner began to recover from a starboard roll I dropped down the ladder, worked my way around that big obstruction to the hatch on the other side and began undogging like mad. With all eight dogs off, the hatch opened, I got inside, closed it and started dogging from bottom to top just as the sea came rushing over the main deck outside. My heart was pounding from exertion, fear, and relief. Emergency radio was a small compartment to the left of the torpedo shack. After a few calming minutes, I stepped inside and began to troubleshoot the problem with the TBL. It was a minor malfunction that was soon repaired and after some twenty or thirty minutes or so, I got ready to return to CIC. Being new aboard ship, and standing my first watch, it never occurred to me to call up to the radio shack to let them know that I was on my way back up. It was almost a fatal error. As I waited inside the torpedo shack trying to time the roll of the ship I undogged the top four dogs. Just as Sumner pulled free from the last starboard roll, I quickly undogged the four bottom dogs, opened the hatch, stepped out on deck and started to dog down the hatch again. I have heard somewhere that every seventh wave in the Atlantic is a short wave and don't know if its true or not. But that night as I struggled frantically to get the last two dogs down, I suddenly realized I was never going to finish and make it back around that big obstruction to the ladder before Sumner went under again. So I finished dogging the hatch and hung on for dear life as the Atlantic Ocean came roaring down the starboard side and swept me off my feet. I was all alone up to my waist in seawater in pitch black darkness and boy was I scared. As the ship, cruising like a greyhound, slowly began to right herself, I made my way around to the ladder and back up to the 01 deck. Feeling my way back across the torpedo tubes, I arrived at the port side door leading to the Radio shack, opened it and stepped inside soaking wet. I never forgot my first watch at sea.

From: James McDonald (ET3 53-54)
Subject: Typhoons & Chaplains
Sumner and the rest of the squadron were taking the Lake Champlain over to Korea in the spring of 1953 when we stopped at Manila a day or so after a typhoon had passed. Manila Bay was still showing the after effects of W.W.II with the rusting masts of perhaps a hundred sunken ships sticking up out of the water. I imagine that the port facilities were also in pretty desperate shape, so our four cans and the carrier anchored far out in the bay. As we expected to stay in port for only two days, half the crew were given Cinderella liberty, with the other half to go over the following day. Manila at that time was in pretty bad shape with piles of rubble everywhere, many, many buildings were pockmarked with huge holes from the artillery and bombs of eight years before, and the population seemed to be reduced to an almost primitive existence. Fortunately however, the numerous watering holes were still functioning at peak efficiency, and the pretty Filipino women who frequented them and the other establishments scattered all over Manila were exceedingly desirous of satisfying our various thirsts -- for a price. We were all idealistic young Americans on our way to join the war in Korea, and with money from our recent payday at sea crying out to be spent, we felt duty bound to help the local economy by drinking as much as we could as fast as we could, and then spend whatever was left with all those lonely, lovely young women.  And so a pleasant day and evening was had by all in Manila as storm clouds returned and the rain began to fall again. That night as we arrived at fleet landing, we were told that the typhoon had doubled back, the waves in the bay were too high to allow us to return to our ships safely, and we were stranded on the beach until sometime the following morning. At this point, the warm, tropical rain had become a steady downpour drenching everyone to the bone. Most of us were standing around, half tanked and broke, and not really sure what to do next. Many decided to go back to Manila and did so; many more of us were all libertied out and sought shelter wherever we could, some even curling up on the dock right out in the rain. I passed the night leaning against a red building that offered only partial protection from the elements and at daylight the following morning discovered that my drenched whites had developed a crimson hue from either rust or whatever the building had been painted with. All around me were sailors in uniforms that had once been starched white but that were now soaking wet and sporting the various colors of whatever space they had rested in the night before. We were a miserable looking lot.
After a few hours, we were told that we were going to be ferried out to the carrier in a landing craft. So shortly thereafter, about forty of us at a time donned life jackets, got into what looked like a Higgins boat, and made our way through very choppy seas to the carrier, which was barely discernible through the misty rain. A barge or a lighter of some sort was tied up next to the carrier, which had a huge landing net hanging down from the hanger deck to the flat surface of the barge. We pulled alongside, and with a great deal of alacrity managed to get out of the landing craft and onto the surface of the barge. Another landing craft had just disgorged it load of sailors onto the deck of the barge just before we got there, and now that group of sailors was climbing up the landing net to the hanger deck. They were a sight to see! One of the souvenirs that many of the sailors took a fancy to in Manila was a curved dagger with a large white handle. It seemed that every other sailor clambering up that net had a dagger tucked into his waist. Some were hatless, some shoeless, many missing parts of uniforms, others with odd colored uniforms, some with straw hats, some with scraps of civilian clothing. And all those daggers. They looked like pirates trying to take a ship as they scrambled aloft. Once we got up to the hanger deck, those who were ship's company on the carrier disappeared into the ship leaving a couple of hundred of us tin can sailors milling around. After a while we got an "Attention on deck" and the Captain of the carrier came down to look us over. As he slowly passed up and down the ranks, a look of disgust began to darken his face. His first words were, " are you people in the American Navy?" Here and there someone answered, "Yes sir." At that point, the Captain spied a pair of khaki pants and ordered the wearer to step forth. Out of the mob stepped a shoeless, hatless, middle aged man wearing a pair of khaki pants and a tee shirt. "Who are you", asked the Captain. "I'm the Chaplain from the Moale", said the man. The Captain turned to one of his officers and said, " feed them, don't let them out of your sight, then get them off my ship as soon as possible." We left Manila the next day and headed for Japan. Only half the crew got liberty in Manila, which was probably just as well for naval discipline. As for the Chaplain, it seems that some of the guys from the Moale wanted to go back to Manila once they realized that they couldn't make it out to the ship that night so the Chaplain tagged along to keep them out of trouble. When they ran out of money, they began to barter articles of clothing, and the chaplain being a god-fearing tin can sailor, helped out his shipmates with as much of his own uniform as he could sell off without becoming indecent. Carrier sailors, who served in the chickens--t Navy, just wouldn't understand.

From: Phil Maxwell (ICFN 52-53) 
Subject: Don't mess with three phase 440 !
In Boston Shipyard in1953, Jack Clark and I were putting in a big blower motor in the laundry. All of a sudden the ceiling lit up. By the time I crawled over to where Jack should be he was gone. I found him in sick bay ,with a hole burned thru his finger. While he was looking at the leads the Yardbirds had thrown the switch! On another occasion, we were in port in Sasebo, I think, tied up alongside a row of Tincans. The USS Purdy had the duty of rigging the shore power. We were watching them and heard the Chief EM tell them" don't drop that splice", which is exactly what he did. It was 4th of July all over again, shore power was out for everyone, and the Purdy had a four inch hole in her deck. I wonder whatever happened to that guy!

From: Gary Whitehead (YN3 66-69) 
Subject: Gotcha!
One of my memories concerns the XO, LCDR Moye, who denied my leave chit so I could go get married.  I was so mad that I was marching back to my Log Room and cracked my shin on the hatch.  Come to find out it was a joke. PN1 John Mason already had my leave papers typed up. Also, the time when we were on Condition Two watches in Nam and one of the Steward's and I were in the "Merry Go Round" below Mount 51.  I had just put a high explosive (HE) shell in the hoist and the cease fire alarm sounded.  The guys up in the mount put the shell I had just sent up back in the hoist and bang.  The shell from topside smashed on the bottom of the new shell.  Gunners Mate Chief Paxton came running in as the steward ran out screaming.  I couldn't move.  Chief Paxton grabbed the shell, went topside and threw it over the side.  Needless to say he had a talk with the gun crew.

From: Bob Kearns (FTG2 66-68)
Subject: Shooting the Moon !
When Sumner left Mayport for Viet Nam in February, '67, and made its way through the Panama Canal and finally into the Gulf of Mexico, we started doing some serious gun practice.  Much of the fire control and gun gangs had not been together as a unit before the WestPac cruise, and Sumner had remained in port for quite some time before the cruise getting fitted out with various necessities like 50 cal.'s and air conditioning in sleeping compartments (I still say prayers of thanks for that Godsend.)  Gunnery practice hadn't happened in quite some time, but we were cocky, 'cause we had the "E", after all. Well, that balloon of false confidence was popped after the first gunnery practice by Captain Beaman when he kindly let us know that we couldn't hit land if it was 100 yards abeam, much less a moving sled at 3000.  Thereafter, it was practice, practice, practice.  And tweak, repair, coordinate, conform, etc., etc. until we were at "E" level again.  I vividly remember how dedicated FTC Johnson and GMC Paxton were to accuracy--we were benchmarking and "shooting the moon" at midnight in port to get the parallax right between guns and the director.  Did those two Chiefs know that we would be fired on a dozen times in Viet Nam by multiple batteries? No, but they acted like that could happen, and all of us who went through the barrages without getting a direct hit, while the Sumner was still able to inflict mortal wounds with Mount 53, are grateful to this day for their professional tenacity, despite personal flaws (who hasn't got those?)

From: Bill Jones (QM3 68-72)
Subject: A seasick OTTER
QM3 Bill Ortz (A/K/A "the OTTER," and a QMSN at the time) was never able to get underway without getting a little seasick. As soon as the Special Sea Detail was secured Ortz would hit his rack for a while. His brother QMs, always looking to help, would go down to the OC Division compartment and proceed to offer him some sardines in oil which we opened for him, and then light a big old fat cigar. He always declined our offer and spoke ugly things about us and our mothers. You just can't please some people. We were sure this gesture on our part would be well received. Having written this I am suddenly craving some sardines and a cigar. Care to join me Otter?

From: Bill Jones (QM3 68-72) 
Subject: The ATF and rough water
After being aboard Sumner for a while and having a little sea time, I was convinced that Sumner had an ATF (Automatic Trough Finder). If there was a trough in any ocean we were in, we were in the trough. One night on the mid watch I was standing QM watch on the bridge. While I was in the chart house getting a Loran fix Sumner found the grand daddy of all troughs and we took a 43 degree roll. As the chart house went horizontal along with me I went scrambling up to the bridge. It may have been the mid watch but by now the whole crew was up. I am told that SM3 George Casebeer had a piece of plywood under his mattress and that when the ship rolled plywood, mattress, and Casebeer all came out of the rack together and sort of hung in mid-air for a second before hitting the deck. It was a night to remember. (For the uninitiated: TROUGH - a long and narrow or shallow channel or depression between waves.)

From: Don Wertz (RM3 52-54)
Subject: This is no drill !
I recall during our trip to Korea the drills we had every day. "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations. This is a drill, this is a drill." Seems as though it was a pain. You went to your stations but, no big deal. We were North of the 38th parallel, one night, when one of our planes went down and we were dispatched to recovery detail. "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations. THIS IS NO DRILL."  I don't remember who had the bottom bunk but I had the top one and I flew our of my rack just to land on top of his neck as he was getting out. No injures to him but I was first one out of the compartment. We were operating without lights but had to turn them on when we got close to the downed air crew. We could see light flashes from the shore. Don't know if it was gun fire or not. I recall that we got two crewmen and there was one lost. I think that the plane was from the USS Lake Champlain. As was custom when airmen were transferred to their ship by high line transfer, there would be ice cream in the return line. There was no return ice cream. Some days later we were again assigned on plane search and located the pilot during the daylight hours. As we approached the life boat and saw the downed pilot was in good shape ,either the CO or ComDesRon 16, saluted him and went past and ordered our sister ship to pick him up. A message was sent to the carrier to the effect that if we didn't get our ice cream they weren't going to get their pilot..............

From: Stan Border (SO2 50-53)
Subject: Another "rough crossing" story
Another rough crossing occurred in Izmir, Turkey, during the ’51 Med cruise. Frank Nekrasz wrote the other story about "rough seas" in Chapter 2. Aboard the AMS was the Division Commander, Capt. J. W. Waterhouse. Capt. Waterhouse and the AMS’s captain (Comm. D. L. Johnson) were invited to a VIP gathering at a resort hotel on the other side of Ismir. One of the ship’s lieutenants (not named) was assigned to arrange and direct transportation for the party. Two Jeeps were carried on the Sumner’s port side for transportation, and were off-loaded with the MWB davits. One of Don Marion’s pictures shows Ismir to be on a hill, so getting to the other side of Ismir may have suggested having to go over that hill. Anyway that is what the lieutenant decided to do. As the ship’s duty driver, I drove the first jeep with Comm. Johnson and the Lt who gave directions for the trip. The second jeep, driven by SN Christian, followed with Captain Waterhouse and the XO. Up the hill we went, on what appeared to be a main street. The street soon became a lane, then a very narrow walkway, and finally, stairs. At this point we could not turn around, and backing down would have been too dangerous. The decision was made to go over the top by bouncing up the stairs. This was successful and we continued down the other side to our destination via stairs, walkway, lane, and street. I’m sure Comm. Johnson was not happy with the experience, especially when he found out that there was a main boulevard around the bay that would have taken just a few minutes.

From: Stan Border (SO2 50-53)
Subject: Distinguished visitor in Venice
This story is true as a shipmate, who is not to be named, told it to me. While anchored in Venice during the ’51 Med cruise, Frank Nekrasz was standing Quarterdeck watch at the ladder, amid-ship. The OD was taking a break and he was the same unnamed lieutenant in my "rough crossing" story. Someone got on the intercom and mumbled something like "COMFLEET…" approaching. The OD came rushing out, and upon seeing the approaching boat, ran to summon the Division Commander and the Captain to the quarterdeck to greet the distinguished visitor. They came hurrying down and stood ready to greet him. The boat came along side. The visitor came up the latter, and holding out his hand, said: "Would you like to buy a post card"? After the shock wore off, the captain went away very red faced and unhappy, and the OD was seen running up and down the deck asking: Who made that announcement? Of course, Frank stood quietly by.

From: Jan Tenhoeve (SFP3 65-67)
Subject: Crossing the Delaware, I mean, Victoria Harbor, that is!
Machinist's Mate Second Class Frankie Roman's face reflected the way I now felt. Grave. Sunk. We looked at each other again, then back at the boat's engine with it's decrepit hose not working. Frankie checked it one more time, "It's the hose." "Yeah," I responded while scratching my head and watching the Sumner beginning to look a bit far away as we drifted sideways in the middle of Victoria Harbor. Boatswain's Mate Third Class Wallace's face was turning livid and his eyes bulged as he interjected what he thought of the situation, "this ain't good!" I could now well imagine the motor launch heading back to Hong Kong on it's own. And all of us aboard considered UA or AWOL, whichever you like to use best. AWOL in Hong Kong. Better yet, 'Missing Movement.' But, darn it!, we're in Movement! Going the wrong way! With an engine that quit on us! Nothing like this happened in the book I once read - The World of Suzie Wong. Like Wallace just said, "this ain't good." I had found out late that morning that part of having the Duty was to be 'Boat Engineer' in the Motor Launch which I had always referred to as the Sumner's Little Life Boat. So I cleaned my sunglasses, got my clean 'Whites' on and waited for the call when the Launch was being readied to shuttle personnel to the mainland. Above R Division where I waited for the 'call", First Division personnel began using air hammers on the Main Deck to remove old paint. This made it impossible to hear anything and I missed the first call. However, the 'Launch' did okay on it's run without an 'Engineer.' But! This would not happen again. I'd wait for the next call by the Barber's Chair. It came, and I got there fast - sunglasses 'n all! No tools. Everyone assumed the 'Launch' has it's own toolbox. It didn't. And it's engine had seen better days. Now we were drifting sideways. I wiped my sunglasses and Wallace started to row. And the Sumner came back into view. Frankie Roman patted my arm, "at least it's a gorgeous day to be out here." I hunkered down a bit, "onward, yes, onward." Later on someone said we looked like Washington crossing the Delaware as we neared the 692. But I didn't really think so. I still don't.

From: Mike De Gregorio (MM3 68-70)
Subject: Not feeling good!
Not long after reporting onboard Sumner, we took the first of a few shakedown OPS off the Carolina coast to test the equipment installed during our yard period in Charleston. I believe we were off Cape Hatteras and the sea was very rough. Needless to say I was not feeling so good. I exited Main Control via the outboard ladder and ran into Chief Wheeler, he inquired as to why I was on the Main Deck and I told him that my stomach was upset and I didn't feel much like working. He looked at me with concerned eyes and asked me to follow him. Down to the Chief's Quarters we went. Maybe he's going to get me a cup of tea to settle my stomach, or perhaps some sea sickness medication. In any event he was being very nice! When we arrived in the Chief's Quarters he proceeded to pick up a pail and then a 3 foot piece of rope and tied it to the pail and put it over my head and said very loud "Son now get back to work and don't ever let me catch you away from your work station again. If you feel sick again puke in the bucket, that's what the navy provides them for!" I had that bucket around my neck till after I got off watch!

From: Ed Izzi (BT2 66-69)
Subject: Crank faster!
Returning from the Vietnam Cruise we were going into San Francisco, and going under the Golden Gate Bridge.  BT1 Bell was Top Watch, and the Engineering Officer only wanted 2nd Class and above on watch as we went under the bridge and into San Francisco (think he wanted to make sure we didn't smoke black). I was on the burners. BT1 Bell received a phone call, and told the messenger of the watch to make sure the area around a old hand pump, used in case of a emergency, loss of fuel and power was clear. You could use this pump with a crank, and by hand get fuel flowing into the boilers. It was disconnected, and never used on my 3+ years on the Sumner.  Well here comes a deck ape, in his dress blues, reporting to Bell, saying he was here to "LOWER THE MAST" so we can go under the Golden Gate Bridge. This pump was located in the back of the boiler, the hottest area, maybe 112 deg F.  So Bell puts on a head set, and stands where the 1st Division "BOOT" was. He tells the Deck Ape to start cranking the mast down. As the seconds passed Bell tells him "Faster", then "Faster".  Remember the boot camper had wool dress blues on.. Bell holds back his laughs, "Faster", "Faster." Then Bell said "OK, we are past the bridge." From behind the boiler came this wet wet seaman. Drenched from head to toe. As he goes to the inboard hatch, there are all his 1st Division buddies, laughing and clapping. I really felt sorry for him. Does anyone remember who it was?

From: Al Olsen (LT 51-54)
Subject: Eight O'Clock Reports
LT Harry Kohler, later CDR Kohler, was an LDO (Limited Duty Officer or Mustang) and an exceptionally skilled engineering officer. He knew seven different ways to Wednesday how to rig the plant so that he hardly ever reported any equipment out-of-commission. His relief was a young LTJG, George Derby, who began to routinely report inoperative equipment at Eight O'Clock Reports. One evening the CO, CDR Steve O'Rourke, asked me, "What the hell has happened to the engineering plant since Harry left?" I told him,  "Nothing, sir. You now have an engineering officer who wants to share with you the actual condition of the plant." CDR O'Rourke replied, "I liked it better the other way!"

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