Sea Stories - Chapter 7

October 1966, one month after my 18th birthday, having enlisted at 17 while still in High School, here I was staring in amazement at the Sumner DD692 and her big guns at Mayport Navy Station, Mayport Florida. I arrived from Charleston, S.C. with my new buddy, Gary Carnot at about 1:30 AM. Gary and I were from the Tampa Bay area of Florida and met in Charleston and became fast friends and still are today. Medical issues and a reading of my shipmates stories have inspired me to write my memories of my time on AMS. At least what I can still remember at my age. Reporting to the Petty Officer of the Watch went well and we were assigned bunks in first division. The Navy being the Navy had told me I would be working in supply, but with a shortage of deck apes, you know where I ended up, good old First Division. And honestly, I would have it no other way. The next day or two are a blur, checking in, meeting my shipmates and the Petty Officer First Class Cowert and Chief Beasley, someone I would have much contact with during my two years on board. Chuckle! Introductions to chipping hammers, red lead and mops followed shortly. While on the AMS, went to Vietnam, rode out a typhoon, stood Captain’s Mast, honed my cooking skills for the CPOs, made many new friends, some of whom came to my wedding bearing gifts that we still own, and matured enough to become a better man. Or at least I hope I did. Spent many evenings with Carnot listening to his huge Elvis collection on my portable record player. Visited many Countries, which I continue to do today with my wife of 51 years. I remember the typhoon and being on midwatch and seeing the ship list to where I thought we were going to roll over. The waves so strong that the ship would drop out from under you and you would drop 3 feet to catch up with her. Not fun in the chow line. I remember drinking too much in Japan and being dropped by a cabbie at the gangplank and having to crawl aboard. Being stationed in mount 53 I recall our first time under fire. We always kept the hatches opened until that first time when an enemy shell burst not 50 feet from the port side and scared the hell out of the entire gun crew. Hatches stayed closed from that point on. Shrapnel littered the deck after many of our runs. During refueling and rearming, I manned the phones and got to watch all the action. After we returned to Mayport I married my High School sweetheart Joan and she came to Charleston during drydock and we lived in a tiny house with Carnot and his new wife Evie. Good times! There is so much more, much forgotten, but I will always remember the friends, Carnot, Dibello, Willshaw, Izzi, Whitehead, Bwanna Coli, Garcia, Wetch, EN Pardue, Barnes, Jones and apologies to those I have missed. Upon leaving the AMS I joined the Army as a buck Sergeant and did a couple years in Germany and the States. Good times all.

Here are some recollections of my short stint on the Sumner in 1965. I reported aboard in April 1965 and left in September 1965, so these recollections are slightly over 50 years old.
1. Some shipmates I remember are: MM1 Bobby Moore, MM2 Robert Tew, FN Bob Puterbaugh, FN Orlando Maestas, FN/MM3 Roman, MM3 Smithson and BT Thibideaux.
2. My GQ station was with a Repair Party forward on the port side. My job upon getting to my station was to run a fire hose out to the forward gun mounts then get back and dog the hatch. One early evening when we were of the coast of Santo Domingo, we had a GQ call that was not a drill. I was in the shower. I went to GQ in my skivvie shorts and shower shoes. I remember thinking as I headed out to run the hose. "I wonder if someone will be shooting at me?"
3. I also remember when we were patrolling off Santo Domingo when we picked up 'the body". As I recall we had seen what looked like someone flailing in the water a few hundred yards from the ship and proceeded to investigate. As we drew closer we could see shark fins circling a person. A fin would disappear and the body would flail. We got along side and brought aboard what had been an adult male. I still have visions of what I recall as the golf ball-like eyes, the right arm completely out of its socket like a doll, and no flesh below the navel save for some around the right ankle and foot. The smell was terrible. We chased around for a while trying to find a local craft that would take the body. I believe MM3 Roman, who spoke Spanish, was on the bridge trying to hail vessels to take the body.
4. I recall that at about the same time we secured from the Special Sea and Anchor detail that we went on water hours. We had some leaky boilers.
5. We stood back-to-back watches a lot and 4 and 8s were as good as it ever got. I was never as tired as I was on the Sumner. One day I got off the 1200 - 1600 watch and went to the DASH hanger bay. The deck crew was working on the deck with electric or pneumatic chippers and making a hell of a racket. I crawled up on some shoring timber that was in a rack on the bulkhead, put a live vest under my head and went to sleep. The next thing I know is someone off in the distance is shouting my name. I wake up, it's pitch black and I'm totally disoriented. I finally realize where I am and answer the shout. It was the messenger-of-the-watch looking for me to go on my 0000-0400 watch. I had slept for nearly 8 hours. The deck gang had finished work and secured the hanger bay with me still asleep on the bulkhead rack. I found out they were just about to report me as missing when I answered the shouts. I think that's was the only time I got 8 hours sleep on the Sumner.
6. After leaving the Sumner I went to Nuke School and on to the USS Enterprise where I made 4 Westpac cruises. I was aboard during the fire on 14Jan69. (Google big E Fire for the full effect.) I was discharged as an MM1 in June 1970, when the Big E was being refueled in Newport News after serving 5 yrs and 10 months on active duty. My time on the Sumner made me really appreciate and admire Tin Can sailors.
I'm in touch with Bobby Moore via email. I worked for Booby when I was aboard. I also stay in touch with Paul Rando, who I don't remember from my time aboard. If you have a line on any of the guys whose names I mentioned earlier, please let me know.

LTJG Labouisse retired as a Captain form the Louisianna Naval reserves. He coordinated actions between the Naval Rserves and the National Guard in LA. Once Jose Garcia and I did a special repair that no one wanted to do.After that we pulled into Key West , he and Lt Smith took us out for liberty call. Jose was under 21.and I was just drinking coke. Two cops came in and stated I was under age..I told them I was just drinking coke . but my friend and future brother-in-law switched his rum. After being handcuffed they finally looked at my ID, those were the days! LTJG Labouisse whs a good officer always looking for his men!! He also wrote a letter to LSU, where he graduated, for me to get accepted in 1969.. I got accepted but you know I fell in love with my first wife instead.

I was a midshipman at the US Naval Academy in the summer of 1963. The ALLEN M. SUMNER was my introduction to life at sea. I was provided with an experience that played a great role in my formative years in the Navy. I can still remember chasing the USS Shangri La on plane guarding duty. I was fascinated with the turbulence that resulted from refueling from an oiler. I can still hear “Reveille, now Reveille, all hands turn out and trice up …. ! Although I ended up on the USS Patrick Henry SSBN 599, I still vividly remember my time on the SUMNER these 50 years later!

After being away about a year or so I came home on leave. In need of a trim I headed to my old barber shop that I had used before entering the Navy - Conn’s Barber Shop. I received a nice greeting along with a “Where have you been?” I told him I was in the Navy and assigned to the USS Allen M. Sumner DD-692, Atlantic Fleet Norfolk, VA. He was shocked! Turned out he was a Plank owner and was a FC3 at the time of the Kamikaze attack. He continued to tell me that he had at home a small piece of the pilot’s head gear. He talked of the loss of life and damage suffered. Off to Pearl Harbor for repairs and during sea trials it was
thought they hit a whale that damaged a rudder and screw, therefore, had to head back to Pearl for more repairs. He told me of the battle when the Sumner shot down a Navy fighter that got into “No man’s airspace.” The pilot when picked up by the Sumner cussed out anyone and everyone. When that same pilot was in attendance at our San Diego reunion it was my turn to be shocked! Willis Conn Cline FC3 was my barber. I learned his full name searching the Sumner web site. God bless Conn and all his shipmates.

On a quiet evening at Mayport Naval Station I was the duty engineer that night aboard the Sumner. We are tied up port side of our sister ship USS MOALE. Then came those words over the intercom, “Duty engineer lay up to the quarter deck.” What was waiting for me was a 55 gallon drum of lube oil. Well, I get the working party together as I’m thinking to myself there is no way we will be able cross the Moale with this drum of oil, so reaching back to my past experience which was not much I said to the boys “we will float the drum over”. I distinctly remember total silence from my shipmates which didn’t encourage me at all. We tied a hand line around the drum and heaved it over and it hit the water with a splash that was frightening and it was swallowed into the water quickly disappearing only leaving a ripple or two. Total silence again. “I know that sucker will float”, I said to myself. Several minutes go by but there is nothing but a limp hand line in the water. “What had I done?” Every possible screw up went though my mind in a flash. “What had I done? All of a sudden “Davy Jones” turned it loose and it surfaced. We then were able to get it to the Sumner and on deck without incident. I was one relieved Duty Engineer.

For us Deck Apes in port, one of our jobs was standing the Quarterdeck watch. There were three people at a time - the Messenger, The Petty Officer of the Watch (POOW) and the Officer of the Deck (OOD). One of the many things we did was pass the word via the 1MC of general items in the day-to-day working of the ship. These could be calling Reveille, Liberty Call, Lights Out,etc. One day while I was serving as POOW an ET came to me and wanted the word passed that they were working on the Radar and wanted everyone to stay away from the mast while this was going on. I grabbed the microphone and with an authoritative voice said; "NOW ALL HANDS STAND CLEAR OF THE MAST WHILE THE TEN-E-A-TORE IS BEING ROW-TEE-A-TED !" As soon as it came out of my mouth I knew it was totally wrong but I let go of the Mike Key and put it away. After a few seconds one of the officers, I think LTJG John Boeckeler, leaned out of the hatch by the Post Office and said "What did you say" with a big grin on his face. Evidently eveyone one else understood what I had said or did nobody bother to listen ???

I came aboard the Allen M. Sumner, my first ship, while she was in Key West in probably August or September, of 1966. I had taken the 3rd class FTG test while in "A" school in Bainbridge, MD some time earlier and had forgotten about it. One day while working up in the gun director, ENS (at that time) Klaben stuck his head up through the hatch and, grinning I guess, told me that I was out of uniform. Working in my dungarees, and having no idea how I could be out of uniform, I needed to know how. So he told me I was supposed to be wearing a "Crow". My advancement had just come through. So I immediately became the leading fire control technician, (thankfully for only a short time), with no experience and absolutely no knowledge of anything about the fire control system, what all it included, or how any of it worked. Thus began a long learning experience. The following February, we set off on our tour of duty off the coast of Viet Nam. Before we got into Yokosuka, I happened to leave my bill fold out of my locker while I went to the shower. When I came back, it was gone. A day or two later it was found in the possession of one of the compartment-mates. So when we got into port, I couldn't take liberty because my money was being held as evidence. Out of all the crew, only a few of us were sent to take a driver's license test, in order to be able to drive in Japan. Evidently, I was the only one who didn't know what was up. At least I was the only one who was stupid enough to end up with the license. So, I became the Commodore's driver. So when we got to Sasebo, while taking the Commodore on a trip somewhere, he asked me which of the two cities I liked best. I told him that I hadn't gotten to see either of them. He wanted to know why. I told him I didn't have any money to go ashore in Yokosuka because of the incident, and I had to stay aboard in Sasebo to be available to drive for him. So he told me to just drop him off, wherever it was that I took him, and go back to the ship and go on liberty. I think that was the only time I ever drove for him, but that didn't bother me. Can you imagine trying to drive a 1965 Galaxy 500 with the steering wheel on the left side, in Japan?
I have forgotten a lot about that cruise and the experience, but I still have fond memories of so many of the crew, especially my team-mates. I remember the typhoon and other storms, the re-fuelling, the re-supplying, taking on ammunition, Captain Beaman's departure and return, etc. I have one question for anybody who can remember. Did the wind ever blow while we were on patrol in the South China Sea, or the Gulf of Tonkin? It seems to me it was just sweltering heat with no wind at all. At any rate, during the return trip, I was advanced to FTG2, and shortly after our return to Mayport, I was transferred to the USS Leahy, DLG-16 which was being re-built in the Philadelphia, PA Naval Shipyard. While there, I got to witness the re-commissioning of the USS New Jersey, I think it was. I had seen the 16" gun barrels come out of storage at the Dahlgren, VA. Naval weapons Lab, back in the Fall, or Winter of 1965, and sent by barge up to the ship yards. At that time, I probably didn't have any idea what was up, and especially that I was seeing history being made. I was a young lad of 21, at that time, fresh out of the hills of East Tennessee, and having never seen much of the world outside of those hills. I didn't have any idea what lay ahead of me during the next 3 1/2 years, but I'm glad I experienced it. I wouldn't take anything for the memories I have of my life aboard the Allen M. Sumner, DD692. I only wish I could remember more of it.

I was assigned as Ship's 3M Coordinator and we were on a reserve cruise from Baltimore to Ft. Lauderdale in the summer of 71. I was finishing some work for restricted availability and getting ready to refuel at the Coast Guard base in Yorktown, VA. I'm from Portsmouth, Va. and had put in for leave going to my hometown. I was excited to get home to my family for about four days. Well to make a long story........ an LTJG was assigned the bridge for the first time and our Captain decided to let him pull it into the pier. This was a pristine pier, brand new and spotless as I had thought. I was on the rail just watching and noticed that we were going way to fast to pull up to a pier. Lo and behold we slammed into it - broke our anchor chain which left our anchor on the pier. As 3M coordinator I knew I was doomed to stay aboard and do the kilos for the repairs. Our XO said "George I hate to tell you this but your leave has to be cancelled to take care of this and it was. I asked the XO if I could get permission to make a few comments to the JG and he said he's in deep enough as it is. The JG did get the word and stayed away from me for a while and we both laughed about it later. To be a Sumner sailor was fun, challenging and yet an awesome experience. Bless the awesome sailors who served aboard her. I was proud to be a part of this wonderful ship's history. P.S. Hi to Ole Rosskamp.

While we were in Hong Kong in '67, I was standing QDeck Watch when this guy came up alongside in a boat and wanted to know if we had a Band. I said we did and what did he want to know for. He said he owned the "Crazy Horse Saloon" on Roosevelt St. and that he needed a band. He would pay $10 a nite for each man in the band, free booze and all the food you could eat. This sounded really great, so I went to Capt. Beaman and asked him about it, and he was just as positive. He said this was a great way to keep the crew in an area close in if we had to get underway suddenly. Needless to say, we had a ball until the owner of the place started complaining that he was losing money on us for drinking and eating up all his profit!

As a member of 1st Division, we had to clean the side of the ship. We were divided into 8 men, 2 to a team. Mid-ships was our dividing point fore and aft. This time, I think Cutler and I were over the side cleaning from the bow to mid-ship with cleanser but it kept leaving white stripes, even using gallons of fresh water to try to rinse it off. We finished what we thought was cleaning it only to be told that it looked like s...t! We had wasted about 2 hours washing the oil off the side when I got the bright idea to use JP-5 to wipe down what we had already done. Boy did it look great, as a matter of fact it looked like we had freshly painted our section with haze gray! I don't remember if it was Chief Beasley or the Captain who passed the word down but it was so good we had to do the rest of the ship. Needless to say I never came up with any bright ideas again!

For what ever reason, and I can't remember, I was given the job to cook for the Chiefs while the ship was in Hong Kong. One night I got mighty hungry and knew that the cooler in the Chief's Quarters had a nice 25 lb or so roll of baloney. I told my buddy Jerry Jones and he agreed to be the "look out" while I snatched the baloney. We went to the bow of the ship and had our fill. We now had the problem of getting rid of the remaining stolen baloney. Jerry said throw it overboard which I did. Well to our surprise it did not sink but floated around the bow lights!

I feel like being on the midwatch...0130 Joe Pot in place. ..I recollect back in about the winter ok 1950-51 maybe...We were on a little 2-3 week drive, maybe a month, seemed like a year, up Iceland way...How many ships were up there? A bunch....I know if you could get topside, you could see one tin can forward with the screws well out , exposed....the can aft, the bow was up far enough you could chip barnacles off...It might not have been the roughest sea ever, but it W A S a bitch my friend....Low on fuel, no chow being cooked. If you were lucky enough to get to your rack , you had to lash yourself down. Me, I tried crapping out on the forward stack cover between 1& 2 boilers...Not a good option.... The guy on the burners was hanging onto the valve wheels above the lower deck....The guy on the blower, hanging tough, and the guy on the check valve, trying to figure out where the water level was , high or low ??? . No way you could tell. ...Me, on the stack cover sliding from side to side, not a lot of sleep being had.....We were creeping along bout 2-3 knots trying to conserve fuel, waiting for a chance to take on fuel when it calmed down enough.................... .Finally, a floating gas station (carrier) managed to come along side without crashing into each other.....All the deck apes manning the operation, were tied to there stations. One was not. A fellow ( named Dixon ) washed over the side....He was picked up 5 minuets later, by a helicopter, frozen to death....His bunk was under mine by the after steering compartment.......Long story short, I had a 10 day leave as soon as we tied up in Norfolk......After all the "rockin n rollin" for a while I finally found out what "sea legs" meant..............Walking down the pier, I could hardly walk..... " Calm Seas to ya matee "

Here's one for ya.....been holding it back.....not proud of it.....but, time to fess up...You know how you always wanted to help out a shipmate, a Buddy. I'm sure the "O.D." on duty has passed, and my friend as well....."On the way back from liberty one night a "friend" had two (2) pints of booze.....couldn't hide much in those Dress Blues, you know.....he was looking for a little help He, a little older guy, with a little more savvy than most guys not too far from Boot Camp, know what I mean.....Well, he conned me into the caper, and to get him out clean, he pulled the same deal on another dumb "Swab".....I was wearing my $30.00 tailor mades, not too much room to hide mush.....I stuffef it down in the pit of my back, pulled my jumper down real good, and walked up the gang plank, saluted the colors, the "O.D." and walked aboard.....it was like the "O.D." was in on it.....the little bit of hair on the back of my neck was stiff.....Well, long story short, I was Busted.....at seventeen you think you are "bullet proof," but you learn as you go.....(I should have pitched it in the drink!!!!).....Oh yea.....My shipmate "friend" got a big chuckle out of it.....GOD REST HIS SOUL...

From: Bob Hibbert (DK3 64-66)
Subject: Man's Best Friend
We arrived in Pireas, Greece, for some R&R on December 29, 1965. A number of us signed up for a local tour, which included a visit to the Acropolis at Athens. Reading about such antiquities in a high school history book was one thing, but what an awe-inspiring impact it was to actually walk about on the same courtyard as did the ancients, and to set foot in the Parthenon itself. The tour concluded with a lunch break at one of the downtown Athens restaurants. The main serving for our group was some sort of stew, with some rather peculiar looking chunks of meat. A few shipmates disliked the taste of the stew, so I was most glad to chow down on some extra helpings. As we left the restaurant, someone pointed to an open-air butcher shop across the street. Now we can’t be sure, but several of the hanging carcasses had an amazing resemblance to that of a skinned dog. That sight made for a few turned stomachs. Guess that’s why I love dogs so much – as pets, of course!

From: Richard W. Shoemaker (63)
Subject: SURVIVAL AT SEA-TRAPPED IN THE JAWS OF A HURRICANE!
I have sailed across the Pacific, through the Panama Canal twice, crossed the Atlantic twice, and even sailed above the Arctic Circle. But I have only one time experienced the “once in a lifetime, never to be forgotten” challenge of sailing through deadly ninety foot waves aboard a ship only three hundred seventy five feet long! In the middle of WW ll, while still seventeen, I enlisted in the Navy’s demanding V-12 program. This was completed two years later. I received a commission and served for six months on sea duty aboard a destroyer, the U.S.S. Massey DD 778. The war was over when I was separated from active duty. Four years later, in the fall of 1950, during the Korean War, I was recalled to sea duty for two more years aboard another destroyer, the U.S.S. Sumner DD 692. Just after Thanksgiving we sailed from Norfolk, Virginia, with the other three ships in Destroyer Division 22. We were bound for the Mediterranean Sea and duty with the 6th fleet. On our first night at sea we sailed right into the jaws of a massive, unreported hurricane! My ship radioed the location of this giant storm to the world. While at sea it was routine practice for each ship in the Division to cruise with its whaleboat rigged out and ready for use. However, this storm hit so suddenly and was so savage that all four whaleboats were smashed into kindling before they could be swung back inboard and safely secured. The narrative below is my personal account of the several dangerous days that followed. Being new aboard the Sumner, my watch assignment was as a Junior Officer of the Deck until the Captain had time to evaluate my ship handling skills. Aboard naval vessels at sea the Officer on Deck (O.O.D.) is the officer on watch that is the “driver.” He gives the orders for steering, speed, etc. As a young Ensign aboard The Massey I had become qualified, and stood watches as an O.O.D. But each Captain understandably wants to personally determine who he can trust with maneuvering his ship while at sea. So I stood my watches during the hurricane on the bridge of The Sumner under the supervision of the O.O.D. on watch. Up there on the bridge I could see all the powerful fury of the storm. I was standing about forty feet above the surface of the ocean. But it was necessary to look up another fifty feet to see the tops of the waves surrounding us. Most of the time the other three ships were not even in sight, hidden behind other nearby massive waves. The only way to survive was to head right into those oncoming giant waves. Any engine failure would have been devastating. As each wave came at us, the ship’s prow would slice into it, and the entire bow would be instantly buried under tons of seawater. But the bow, being very buoyant, would pop back up, throwing all that water back toward the bridge. However, we had some protection on the bridge, and all the flying water didn’t get that far. A Plexiglas “window” was positioned like a windshield across the whole forward part of the bridge. Overhead, a sturdy canvas “roof” was lashed to a strong pipe framework. The deck itself was a special wooden raised platform with plenty of holes so water could quickly drain away. During that storm, however, everything on the bridge continued to be wet and slippery. Just keeping one’s feet was a challenge as the ship constantly pitched and rolled from side to side. As the ship pushed into each massive wave, the water seemed to slide right up under us. It was almost like being on an elevator. The sea would effortlessly lift our two thousand two hundred tons right to the top of the wave. Then for a brief moment, while we perched on the crest of the wave, we might catch a glimpse of at least the mast on one or more of our other three ships. But the wave quickly moved on and our ship would slide down the backside of the wave to the trough below. Once there, the same procedure would be repeated time after time as more huge waves came rushing toward us. However, as all this challenging action was taking place, something even more deadly was occurring. The ship was rolling dangerously from side to side. Sumner class destroyers were designed to roll safely to about thirty two degrees on both the port and starboard sides. Beyond that point, the ship might very well capsize. Several times we rolled past that “point of no return”, but thanks to timely wind, waves, and the good Lord’s special watch-care, we always bounced back upright. The Sumner even had another handicap. Because we were headed to an overseas assignment, we carried a jeep lashed down on the port side of the main deck. High up on the boat deck, several tons of extra food supplies were covered and lashed down. All that additional weight, well above the waterline, meant added danger as the ship rolled from side to side. During the time we were trapped in this vicious storm, all normal activities were put on hold. It seemed like we fought that storm for a week or more, but I guess it was just a couple days. Time seemed to stand still. It wasn’t possible to cook or sit down and eat a hot meal, so we lived on cold sandwiches, hand held fruit and lots of hot coffee. For those not on watch there weren’t many options. Have you ever tried to sit down on a ship that is rolling thirty degrees from side to side? Staying in your bunk was one of the safest things to do, but even that was a real challenge as the ship rolled so violently. I’m not sure how the enlisted men were able to do it. The modern Navy doesn’t have hammocks that would swing to match the ship’s movements. My men’s bunks were mattresses that fit into pipe and heavy wire mesh “trays” that were suspended on sturdy chains attached at all four corners of each tray. The chains were anchored to the overhead and the deck. As I recall most were three bunks high so there wasn’t any excess space between the bunks. In my compartment there were two built in bunks. Each mattress was in a metal tray just as deep as the mattress. I had the top bunk and was able to stay in it and sleep despite the thirty degree rolls. I would lie on my side with my back against the wall. Then I braced my feet between the mattress and the metal tray on the opposite side of the bunk. Once “locked” in that position, my body would just roll with the ship and I would fall asleep, “rocked in the cradle of the deep”. During the course of the storm several roll calls of the crew were taken. At one of them it was discovered that one of our shipmates was missing. The ship was searched but he was not aboard. No one knew what happened, or how. He left a wife and one young son whose first name was Allen. He had been named in honor of his Daddy’s ship, The Allen M. Sumner. Our shipmate’s body was never recovered, and our crew collected money for his widow. Once while the storm was raging, our supply officer attempted to venture out on the boat deck to check on the extra food supplies he stored there. He was wearing his regulation hat and a buttoned and belted trench coat. The wind immediately sent his hat flying over the side, and a moment later the coat was peeled right off over his back and sent to join the hat. He was fortunate he didn’t go along with the coat. Once back inside, he wisely didn’t try to venture out again. A reserve officer, Ed, who reported for duty at about the same time I did, would get seasick in a mild storm. During this violent hurricane he was far more than just miserable. His living quarters were in the deckhouse that was built on the main deck. Near those quarters there was a special expansion joint, designed to flex with storm related ship movements. But the extreme twists and turns created by this superstorm ruptured the joint and allowed a small amount of seawater to penetrate into the deckhouse. Unfortunately, that water found its way into Ed’s quarters. His bunk was the lower one, and as he lay there in misery all he could hear was the sloshing back and forth of several inches of water within a foot or so of his head. When the Sumner sailed from Norfolk, my wife drove her car to her Aunt’s home in nearby Baltimore. Her plan was to stay overnight and head for Ohio in the morning. Then she intended to stay with her parents on their farm in Delaware County until the Sumner returned to Norfolk in about four months. Unfortunately, the savage hurricane that trapped us out at sea also turned inland and spread across a wide section of the eastern United States. Marion was forced to stay a week with her Aunt before getting chains put on the tires and heading west. There were heavy snow accumulations everywhere. It took Marion two full days just to get back to Ohio. On one stretch of the turnpike it took her four hours to travel seventy miles. Then, a few days after getting safely back to Delaware County, she had a very minor accident. Thanks to all the snow and ice the car skidded and the fender was lightly scraped on a fence. She was very upset, and I found that trying to console her by international mail was unsatisfactory. Of course I didn’t find out about her adventures right away. After we broke away from the hurricane we had to turn back toward the Mediterranean. The storm had forced us many miles away from the direct course we had been following. When we did arrive there was much mail waiting for us, including Marion’s account of her challenges before she arrived home safely. We also learned that “our storm” had become well known as the creator of the 1950 “Snow Bowl.” That was when the Buckeyes played Michigan in the horseshoe during a bitter cold blizzard. Just as it was on the sea, visibility was extremely poor on the field that day as well.

Webmaster's Note: If you find any of these stories beyond the realm of reality,
then you have obviously missed one of the great opportunities of life - service in the Tin Can Navy!