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| 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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