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THE U.S.S. SUMTER APA-52 by George S. Gibb Former Lieutenant SC USNR and Former Supply and Disbursing Officer of the vessel throughout its conversion, shakedown, and combat career.
October, 1985
Sumter at Leyte: D Day evening, 22 October 1944 Sketch by the author, made on location
INTRODUCTION
The following history is compiled from five principal sources, the first being History of the USS Sumter (APA 52) compiled by the Division of Naval History, Ships’ History Section, Navy Department, and bearing a date of 12 May 1954. Hereafter this source is referred to as “Official Ship’s History.” The second, and most graphic, source consists of a very large collection of letters written during 1943, 1944, and 1945, by the author to his wife and parents. The third source is Samuel Eliot Morison’s History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, volumes VII, VIII, XII, XIII, and XIV. In following pages this source is identified simply as “Morison.” The fourth source is History of Ships Named Sumter, a seven page mimeographed document signed by “Mr. Olsson,” typed on 19 May 1969, and produced by the Navy Department, Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Division of Naval History (OP-09B9), Ships Histories Section. This source is subsequently identified as “Generic History.” The fifth source, presenting data far too voluminous to be incorporated in total in the following account, comprises numerous documents, reports, and commentaries collected and preserved by Dr. William L. Cover. This source is referred to hereafter as “Cover Documents.”
The official Ship’s History omits many significant operational details and contains apparent minor inaccuracies. The author’s letters provide many operational details and incidents of shipboard life, as well as descriptions of places the ship visited, but because of censorship are necessarily unspecific. Morison’s monumental volumes place the Sumter in context with overall Pacific combat operations and provide data of great value but do not trace transport movements in complete detail. The Cover Documents supply authoritative descriptions about the ship and its organization, provide many important dates, and offer a rich resource of information about Beach Medical Party operations for future writers to tap. Only by blending these five sources does a reasonably accurate and graphic picture of the Sumter’s career emerge.
Even so, the following account doubtless contains errors and must be regarded as a rough draft only, to which the reader, hopefully, can offer corrections and add further detail. All who shared the Sumter experience will be grateful for such contributions, which should be forwarded to the author for blending into a revised and amplified edition of this story. The address:
It is ironic that this history should be undertaken by the least heroic among you. The author - the first person to be assigned to the ship, in early June of 1943 before conversion had even been started in Baltimore, was young, newly wed, shy, insecure, woefully ignorant about the technology of his new trade, and almost pathologically innocent of the way of the world. At sea, he was desperately lonely, a poor mixer, a despiser of Acey-Duecy, and consigned to the humble duty of keeping all of you fed, clothed, and paid. His battle station in the Coding Room, though a fair observation point, conferred no medals for valor, nor did he ever witness, close up, a landing operation or set foot on an unsecured beach-head. The adventures of the Sumter boats and beach parties are not told here and remain for others to relate.
With these limitations in mind, the history that follows is offered with necessary humility and with apologies for possibly excessive intrusion of personal experiences. These are included because they are doubtless typical of the experiences of many shipmates. They also tell about a part of our shipboard lives that has not hitherto been extensively recorded. Whatever its deficiencies, this effort to set forth Sumter’s history is embraced with enthusiasm and a sense of deepest camaraderie with a group of men now become almost unknown.
I cannot close this introduction without words of appreciation. Bill Cover, with a keener sense of history than most of us, preserved much valuable data, which he has graciously made available to the author. He has also and for many years been urging both a reunion and a ship’s history. A great debt of gratitude is also and obviously owed to the Sumter veterans who labored so hard to make the 1985 reunion a reality and thereby provide the final stimulus for this history. My manuscript in both rough and finished form was expertly edited by my wife Hilma . . . . any remaining errors are my own. It was not an easy task for her, since it necessarily involved perusal of much highly personal correspondence with my deceased wife Ruth, who was Hilma’s friend and known to some of you and your wives.
George S. Gibb Attleboro, Massachusetts October 20, 1985
THE SHIP
The Official Ship’s History states: “Designed to land fully-equipped assault troops on enemy-held beaches, while defending herself against possibly enemy action, the attack transport turned out to be one of the most important vessels of World War II . . . . .The attack transport USS SUMTER (APA 52), was built under Maritime Commission contract for the Waterman Steamship Company as the SS Iberville by the Gulf Shipbuilding Company, Chickasaw, Alabama. When she was launched Mrs. J.F. McRae acted as sponsor. Acquired by the Navy as the AP 97 on 30 April 1943, she was taken to the Baltimore Yards of the Maryland Dry-dock Company, where she was converted to an APA (attack transport), renamed Sumter, and designated APA 52. The APA 52 was named for counties in the States of Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina [Not, as most of us believed, for the fort of Civil War fame]
The Sumter was classified as a C-2 transport, somewhat smaller than the Callaway, flagship of our Transdiv, which was a C-3. The Official Ship’s History provides the following specifications:
Overall length 469 Feet Beam 63 Feet Speed 16 Knots Displacement 13,910 Tons
Cover Documents add more details. The ship was fitted to carry 74 troop officers and 1,300 enlisted troop personnel. Ship’s company accommodations were for 38 officers, 6 Warrant Officers, and 425 enlisted men. The Official Ship’s History also states that the Sumter carried 31 landing craft. Cover Documents indicate that the vessel carried one LCC (Landing Craft Control), two LCPLs (Landing Craft Personnel), 23 LCVPs (Landing Craft Vehicle Personnel), and two LCM(3)s (Landing Craft Support, Medium). The LCVPs were launched by Welin triple-bank gravity davits, three sets on each side. The two LCMs were carried, if memory serves, on Number 3 hatch cover, just forward of the bridge, and were launched by the cargo booms, There is no record of our armament known to the author that exactly coincides with memory. Cover Documents, dated 1945, state that the Sumter was equipped with 5-inch .38 caliber single guns fore and aft, twin 1.1/75 quadruple-mount antiaircraft batteries on the after deck gun platform, and 20 20mm guns at various positions from Number 2 hatch to the gun tubs abaft and just below the twin 1.1 batteries. The author has a strong recollection that we were also equipped with .50 caliber twin-mount machine guns, possibly on the flying bridge. There is a further recollection that at some time and place after Kwajalein our original 1.1s, which were twin mounts and which Morison has described as ineffective, were replaced by the quad mounts referred to above, and which possibly were the famed Bofors “Pom Poms.” Your comments and corrections are invited.
CONVERSION - SHAKEDOWN - TRAINING
First to be assigned to the ship was Ensign Gibb, SC USNR, eleven months in uniform, a hardened veteran of three months duty in the Coding Room of the Eastern Sea Frontier in New York City, three months of training duty at Naval Supply Depot, Newport, Rhode Island, and four months schooling at the Navy Supply School at Harvard. He reported for duty, as Disbursing and Assistant Supply Officer, at 0900 on 4 June 1943 to the Assistant Industrial Manager of the Maryland Dry-dock Company (officially, the Baltimore Repair and Conversion Branch, Norfolk Navy Yard). The Sumter was berthed at a dock at 112 South Gay Street. The weather was excessively hot; conversion had not commenced; the Assistant Industrial Manager impatiently told Gibb to go home.
Two weeks later there was still little work to be done, although the new Disbursing Officer faithfully reported each morning at 0900. Gibb and his wife played golf and went hiking and fishing at Lake Roland. Work on the ship, however, finally commenced. Supply Warrant Officers Hugh Hambric and James Munson - both old Regular Navy - reported for duty, looked around, and promptly left for the nearest bar. On June 15 a consignment of 11 typewriters arrived. On that same day Gibb wrote home:
The Sumter was assigned space on a warehouse floor adjacent to the vessel. Soon this area was covered with wooden crates and boxes. Gibb was told to check the contents against a list which was given him, but since neither Gibb, Munson, or Hambric had the faintest idea what the parts were, checking was impossible and wisely was abandoned until somebody more knowledgeable arrived. By early July equipment and supplies were pouring in and “quite a few” officers had reported for duty. On 8 August 1943 Captain A.D. Blackledge and Executive Officer R. N. Gardner - both USN Annapolis reported. Blackledge, a handsome and impressive officer with 27 years of sea duty behind him, made no secret of his displeasure at his new billet and of his determination to pull all strings to get reassigned to a more worthy vessel. A significant omen! Gardner was stern, knowledgeable, and effective. The Sumter contingent was assigned office space where necessary paperwork, mounting rapidly in volume, could be handled. This space was shared by contingents from two other transports similarly being converted. On 17 August Gibb went to Philadelphia to pick up the pay accounts for the ship. Letters written home at this time tell of a side of the war that perhaps had best remain hidden.
On Friday evening, 27 August 1943, a commissioning party was held for officers and their wives at one of the Baltimore hotels. Commissioning took place formally on 1 September in a brief but impressive shipboard ceremony. S&FSD (Sea and Foreign Service Duty) pay commenced for officers and crew on that day. On 6 September the ship was moved by tugs to a new berth at Coddington Cove, during which short trip the official ship pictures were taken. Two days later the Sumter sailed to Norfolk for outfitting, provisioning, and training. Weeks of frantic work and intensive drill commenced, Even so, Gibb still found time for his favorite wartime preoccupation - fishing from the fantail. On 5 October 1943 the Sumter officially reported for duty. On 6 October, Senior Medical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Edgar H. Bates (MC) USNR and his assistant, Lieutenant (j.g.) R. D. Fulton (MC) USNR, reported for duty. Bates - sometimes caustic, often warm and humorous; effective and influential - could well have been the prototype for “Doc” in the postwar play and film classic “Mr. Roberts.”
Training exercises in Chesapeake Bay were rigorous. Stewards Mates manning AA batteries showed considerable skill in hitting the target sleeve towed by an aircraft, whose pilot unquestionably had the riskiest job in the Navy. This gunnery skill, unfortunately, was not always displayed in actual combat situations later. The Stewards Mates were blacks, mostly from rural areas in the Deep South. On the Chesapeake during one of these training cruises the Sumter encountered one of the worst storms of its entire career. The Stewards Mates, to a man, turned an unearthly shade of deep yellow-green, inducing violent illness in all who saw them. This storm gave officers and crew their sea legs, which were to stand further testing in the near future.
On Monday 18 October 1943 the Sumter left Norfolk, accompanied by a DE (Destroyer Escort), headed south. The weather was excessively hot; Doc Bates administered shots which resulted in many painful arms; the ship traveled blacked-out since the area being entered had some months earlier been a “Hot” German submarine hunting ground. Routine General Quarters was sounded at 06:15 and again in the evening. Those new to southern latitudes were fascinated to observe flying fish bursting out in schools and gliding gracefully ahead of the ship, where dolphins also occasionally cavorted. On Friday 22 October, south of Haiti, officers and crew were startled by . . . “BONG! BONG! BONG! All Hands Man Your Battle Stations!” It was the Sumter’s first non-routine General Quarters call. Later it was learned that the Destroyer Escort had made sound contact with, presumably, an enemy submarine. There is no recollection that the DE dropped depth charges. In fact, no official word ever reached most of us as to what had happened. However, a group of CPOs - veterans all - swore they saw a torpedo pass right under the ship’s fantail. It may have been so. Gibb wrote his wife:
On October 1943 the Sumter was at anchor at Colon, awaiting passage through the Panama Canal. Liberty was granted officers in that strange and foreign place and they made the most of it - shopping eagerly for pure silk hose ($4.50) and alligator bags ($22.00, but poorly made ) and patronizing the numerous dark bars that went by enchanting names like “La Cantina Donald Duck.” Many nursed serious hangovers from the native rum and failed to appreciate the exotic beauty, the schools of tarpon, and the mechanical marvels of the Canal, through which the ship threaded its way the next day. On 28 October officers and crew were finding the Pacific Ocean less than pacific. The ship was on beams’ ends; many were seasick. On Tuesday 2 November 1943 the Sumter anchored in San Diego Bay and on Friday 5 November moved up to San Pedro, Port of Los Angeles. Here it was learned that on or about 10 November the ship would move back to “Dago,” where there would be three training cruises of ten days each. Officers rushed ashore to call wives back home.
Back home, wives began packing bags and inquiring about beating a rumored 15 December ban on all civilian travel. Gibb, in a Jeep with two Gunners Mates armed with submachine guns, went to Disbursing HQ and nervously pickup up $100,000 in cash . . . ones, twos, fives, tens, twenties, and $300 in change. Warrant Officer Munson snorted that in “the old days” his Paymaster used to bring back the ship money in a paper bag, which he threw under his stool at the bar where he had a few quick ones before proceeding to the ship. Padre Forrest Brown, the ship’s Protestant chaplain, brought aboard a portable organ and drafted Gibb as organist. There were hectic, fascinating liberties in L.A. One officer sat in a Hollywood bar with famous actor Monty Wooley, who was buying drinks for anyone in uniform.
In late November and early December young wives from all across the nation began to converge on San Diego. How many came will never be known. Their trips on crowded troop trains were sagas in themselves. All reported being treated with utmost courtesy en route, even by the inevitable and numerous inebriated servicemen. Their invulnerability to molestation was a happy phenomenon of the times. Gibb’s wife arrived on 19 December 1943 and found lodgings, along with scores of other wives, at the luxurious Del Coronado Hotel, which had been taken over by the Navy.
On 10 November the Sumter moved from San Pedro to San Diego, followed by her landing craft . . . “Like a mother duck and her ducklings.” There was shore liberty on 11 November and for 48 hours the entire ship’s complement was busy loading. What was loaded is unclear. The troop complement definitely came aboard and it is probable that at this time the ship also took aboard its landing craft and that the last of the boat officers reported for duty. On Saturday 13 November the Sumter was at sea, in convoy, with Marines aboard. Training exercises were held at San Clemente Island. On 15 November the whole fleet charged the beach, guns blazing. “A great sight,” wrote Gibb, who went on to report that “Monday we land the whole family.” On 18 November there was firing practice. There was also much leisure time for those not directly involved with the practice landings. Crap games inevitably flourished below decks. An enthusiastic group of fishermen gathered on the fantail, hauling up formidable numbers of Spanish mackerel, which enriched the Officer Mess.
And so it went. A full-fledged Dog Day was held on Monday 22 November, which was also the day that Padre Brown brought out the first edition (two mimeographed sheets) of a weekly ship’s newspaper. Things went badly with the boats. On Friday 26 November the Sumter was back in Dago and there were 24 hour leaves for officers not vitally occupied. Captain Blackledge’s ardent wish was fulfilled; he received his orders and on 11 December 1943 was replaced by Captain Theodore G. Haff, a gruff but innately understanding officer who quickly made it clear that he knew his business. Actually, Haff was on board and in command several days before the stated date of command change.
On 1 December the ship again put to sea, where three days of debarkation practice took place, highlighted by having an officer overboard. At this time the new style CO-2-activated life belts were issued. The sport of the day was to sneak up behind a fellow shipmate and explode his cartridge. Scuttlebutt had it that the ship would be in port from 10 to 17 December, on training exercises at sea from 17 to 27 December, and in port from 28 December until final departure at an unknown date to an unknown destination. True measure that the war was heating up . . . on 11 November and immediately thereafter the Ships Store was grossing $500 a day, mainly from the sale of cigarettes and rubber prophylactics. At this time the Supply Officer received a large consignment of arctic sleeping bags and several dozen heavy sweaters, beautifully knit by patriotic West Coast clubwomen. From this it was inevitably and positively concluded that we were headed for the Aleutians.
In port at San Pedro during the second week of January, two unscheduled events of minor import, but interesting nonetheless, took place. Lieutenant Charles W. Wilson, the Supply Officer who had joined the ship in Baltimore the preceding summer, was relieved of his duties by Captain Haff. Wilson was an outstanding officer with a remarkably engaging personality. What precipitated the incident is not known. Gibb was immediately “promoted” by Haff to the dual post of Supply and Disbursing Officer. Almost simultaneously Gibb was summoned to the Captain’s quarters for disciplinary action. Gibb’s wife had become pregnant during a memorable three-day liberty in Virginia Beach. Imbued with the aura of Naval Mystery that surrounded all wartime movements however trivial, Gibb devised a code intended to tell his young and highly agitated bride the West Coast port to which she should travel for Final parting. The code was made superfluous by telephone communication and was never used, but was not destroyed and fell into Official Navy Hands. Haff addressed his quaking subordinate and complimented him on an outstanding performance in his new role. As for the code, Haff said, “I have decided not to have you shot because then I would be without either a Supply or a Disbursing Officer.”
Most officer wives made their tear-restrained farewells on Wednesday 12 January 1944. It was a poignant moment for all. On 13 January the ship put to sea in convoy. During training exercises off San Clemente, according to the Official Ship’s History, Sumter had been designated as flagship for Commander, Transport Division 26 and Commander Unit 55.3.11, carrying the 25th Regimental Combat Team of the 4th Marine Division. Underway and headed out, it was soon learned that the vessel was to participate in Operation “Flintlock,” with the goal of capturing Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshall Islands group.
This operation followed hard upon the Gilbert Islands invasion, where Tarawa had taught bitter lessons to our amphibious high command. “Flintlock” was the mission of the 5th Fleet under Vice Admiral Raymond A. Spruance in the ill-fated Indianapolis. The Northern Attack Force - Task Force 53 - under Rear Admiral R.L. Conolly in Appalachian was designated to secure the adjoined islands of Roi and Namur, together with two much smaller adjacent islands, Ennumennet and Ennubirr. A part of this force was TG 53.9, Initial Transport Group, comprising APAs Callaway, Sumter, Warren, and William P. Biddle; Attack Cargo Transport (AKA) Almaack; and Landing Ship Dock (LSD) Epping Forest. Morison incorrectly states that Blackledge was in command of the Sumter. As noted earlier, he had been replaced by Haff before the ship left the West Coast. Morison goes on to state that most of the transports in this operation were new (manned, the Official Ship’s History says, “with green crews who were soon to become tested veterans of Pacific Island warfare)” and that the 4th Marine Division, which had trained at San Diego, was un-blooded.
There was an air of suppressed excitement on board. On 18 January the ship was encountering heavy swells. On 21 January the Sumter dropped anchor and took on provisions at Lahaina Roads, Territory of Hawaii, where she rendezvoused with other units of Task Force 53. There was no shore liberty. On 22 January the task force departed Lahaina.
OPERATION “FLINTLOCK”KwajaleinFirst Battle Star
The convoy steamed southwest under constant vigilance. Japanese airpower in the Gilberts had been neutralized but submarines were on the prowl. Drills were constant. Routine General Quarters sounded at dawn and dusk, but there was no evidence of hostile presence. Sumter officers put nickels and dimes into the One Armed Bandit in the Wardroom, played Acey-Duecy, talked about home, and speculated about the war. There was little informal mingling with Marine detachment officers. Almost literally tons of sealed cartons marked “Top Secret” had come aboard. These contained the superbly rendered beach maps and the reconnaissance photographs of the designated landing areas. Boat officers and Beach Party members pored over these. Each day, for an hour, there were formal briefings in the Wardroom. The weather was stifling hot but the sea was mostly calm. Nights brought a blessed cool breeze and the decks were crowded with costs. A letter home described the scene . . . .
General Quarters sounded at 0300 on the black and windy morning of 31 January 1944. Troops in full battle gear shuffled up from below decks and jammed together at pre-designated Main Deck positions along the rails, from which debarkation nets hung and swayed. Those ship’s officers with adjacent battle stations took up vantage points along the Foc’sle Deck, a shot rang out and there was a quick muffled cry of anguish. One of the Marines had shot himself in the foot, whether by design or by accident nobody on shipboard ever learned. By 0511 the Appalachian and the transports of TG 52.9 were in position five miles from Line of Departure and seven miles to leeward of North Pass, a shallow opening that lay southeast and close to Roi and Namur Islands, the main target of the Northern Attack Force. At 0531 came the historic command . . . “Boats Away!”
Aside from the rifle shot, no sound or sight of combat had reached the ears or eyes of Sumter officers and crew, few of whom had ever witnessed a shot fired with deadly intent. At 0650 they received the baptism. Peering through the lessening early morning darkness they saw a reddish-orange blossom of fire flare suddenly on the horizon. Then all hell broke loose as 5th Fleet fire support vessels of every description commenced their preliminary bombardment. There was no Japanese reply. For weeks the islands had been pounded by carrier-based planes and by land-based bombers from Makin and Tarawa.
The role of Sumter’s landing craft and Beach Party in Operation “Flintlock” remains to be ascertained. Extant accounts are vague. According to Morison our LCVPs were primarily used to transfer troops to LVT-1s and DUKWs, both of which landing craft were better suited to hit the targeted beaches. Morison further states that our assignment was to assist in the capture of Ennumennet and Ennubirr, where the 25th RCT was to establish artillery positions in support of the main attack on Roi and Namur. The Generic Sumter History indicates that we also landed elements of a Construction Battalion - the famed “Seabees.” The author’s recollection, which after more than four decades may well be faulty, is that at least some of Sumter’s boats at some point on Dog Day went to Red Beaches 2 and 3 (Roi) and/or Green Beach 1 (the causeway connecting Roi and Namur), and/or Green Beach 2 (Namur). In any case, it is clear that difficulties were caused by the unexpected roughness of the lagoon and by the necessity for transferring troops from one type of landing craft to another. transports stayed at sea to the east of the islands during the initial assault phase, but the Line of Departure for all assaults made by the Northern Attack Force were inside the lagoon, necessitating prior passage of assault craft through North Pass. By the end of Dog Day Ennumennet, Ennubirr, and Roi had been secured. On 1 February the transports moved into the lagoon and at 1630 dropped anchor. On 2 February Namur was secured. No transport had come under fire in Operation “Flintlock” nor, it appears, had any of the Sumter’s boats. From Admiral King back in Washington came the message . . .
To all hands concerned with the Marshall Islands operation: Well and smartly done. Carry on. Tired, wet, and excited boat officers returned to the Sumter wardroom, still in grease-stained battle garb, to recount their adventures to envious ship-bound shipmates. The ship secured from General Quarters; the Supply Officer made for the fantail:
On 4 February 1944 Transdiv 26 was underway . . . destination Funafuti, in the Ellice Islands.
On 7 February emotions, built up during the preceding hectic days and nights, hilariously burst forth as the Sumter crossed the equator at Longitude 173.0 East. Pollywogs - ingloriously and often painfully - became Shellbacks. The memorable event deserves description:
No Pollywog, even of exalted position, was exempt from the initiation:
The festive spirit carried over yet another day and into the highest of shipboard places:
Thus on the Sumter was demonstrated once again that the great secret weapon of World War II, and probably other wars before and since, was the American sense of humor. It proved to be equally incomprehensible to the grim-minded Germans on one side of the world and to the fanatically formal Japanese on the other. What, we may wonder, would their respective high commands have thought had they known that included in the fantastic array of logistical support for our naval endeavors were carefully detailed blank 15 by 18 inch Neptune Certificates and pocketbook-size cards identifying the bearer as a certified Shellback!
Task Force 53 anchored in Funafuti Atoll on 9 February 1944. It was a flat, searingly hot, palm-studded place dotted with metal-sheathed GI structures. The blazing white beaches were inviting and the Sumter crew had a swim but found the water tepid and less than refreshing. Officers shorn of their locks by the Royal Barber suffered severe sunburns topside. What made that day memorable was an evening summons over the P.A. speaker, and not a summons to man Battle Stations:
It was a call that periodically would make cheers ring out all over the ship and gladden all hearts in the Pacific Theater, breaking the crashing boredom and bringing relief, joy, and alas sometimes tears. On a later such occasion “Pay” was summoned to Skipper O’Pry’s quarters - always a terrifying ordeal for a young officer. “Pay,” said the Skipper, sitting at his desk with an opened letter before him, “Please change your records. I am no longer J.T. O’Pry Jr. Drop the Junior.” Thus, sadly and helplessly, we learned of the passing of Dads, Moms, and others dear to us.
Essential ship’s work went on as the vessel rode at anchor. The Captain held his dreaded inspections. We became accustomed once more to the summons of the Bos’uns whistle . . . “W-h-e-e-e-E-E-E-E-E. Now hear this. Sweepers man your brooms. Clean sweep down fore and aft!” Basically, however, Funafuti was an “R and R’ port and there were regular liberty parties to the beach, where officers and crew alike indulged in an energetic search for beer and souvenirs. There was a little beer, but as for souvenirs:
Funafuti was not the best of liberty ports and the Sumter crew were not unhappy when on or about 16 February the hook was lifted and Transdiv 26 steamed due south . . . destination glamorous Noumea, New Caledonia . . . civilization, with women! Scuttlebutt even had it that this was only a pause on our way to Australia. Spirits soared!
On 20 February the Sumter was anchored off Noumea. The picturesque city had been boarded up tight by its prudent French Colonial inhabitants, who prudently, kept their women out of sight, but liberty was nonetheless exciting. Sumter was assigned a sparkling coral-reefed beach and there was a recreation field, complete with baseball diamond. The water was azure blue, clear as crystal, and refreshingly cool. Cat’s Eyes and other beautiful and exotic shells rewarded the patient searcher of the reefs. Souvenir shops in town were open. So, too, was a bawdy house, for the French were not averse to profiting from the war that had brought them a considerable measure of inconvenience. Here there was relief, tempered by frustration. “Jeez,” exclaimed one Storekeeper 2nd, “I waited in line in the rain for two hours and y’know what? I paid ten bucks and was in bed three minutes!”
There was even a madcap deer hunt. Supply/Disbursing Officer Gibb, on the beach with the Captain’s Jeep on Official Business (at which he was admittedly dawdling) was accosted by two armed Sumter officers, both of whom outranked him. “Goddamit Gibb,! exclaimed Officer “S”, “We’ve been looking all over this Goddam town to find where you were f-----g off. We need the Jeep . . . we’re going deer hunting. Gibb had heard that there were deer in the foothills behind the town. He also happened to have had some hunting experience and looked with horror at the weapons Officers “S” and “X” carried. “We brought one for you, too, you bastard,” said Officer “S”, thrusting at Gibb a 30.06 Garrand. Officer “S” also had a Garrand; Officer “X” had a sub-machinegun. The trio drove up the tortuous dirt roads into the hills, then parked at a place that “looked good” to Officer “S”. They loaded their weapons with some difficulty, since it was obvious that none of them had more than casual familiarity with their armament. Off they started, down a wooded road, Officers “S” and “X” conversing loudly. “WHERE THE HELL ARE THE GODDAM DEER?” shouted Officer “S”. “We better fan out and surround the bastards.” Officer “S” peeled off to starboard; Officer “X” to port. Gibb lingered behind and when his companions were out of sight found a grassy depression where he laid down, well below any possible line of fire, unloaded his rifle, and lit his pipe. “War is really Hell,” he thought.
Noumea, notwithstanding its frustrations and its mosquitoes, was the greatest thing the Sumter crew had seen since L.A. The mail arrived and left the ship almost every day. Schools of fish accommodated the fantail sportsmen. It was with regret that the business of war was resumed. On 7 March 1944 officers relaxing in their bunks were listening to the familiar swish of water along the rust-stained hull. On 10 March they were looking with awe and keenest interest at one of the great and picturesque battlegrounds of World War II. Guadalcanal stretched its mist-shrouded jungle peaks before them, below which were the shell and fire blasted reaches of Bloody Ridge above the shredded Lever Bros. coconut groves that fringed the shining beaches. Off in the starboard distance lay the great gray lump of Savo Island. Behind, across “Ironbottom Bay” lay Florida Island, embracing tiny, battle-shattered Tulagi Island. Sumter and its crew would come to know this historic area well.
Mail had not caught up with the ship and there was much work to be done, but it was a fascinating liberty port. All the Sumter crew got to the beach as often as possible. There was an Officers’ Club of sorts. Cat’s Eyes and other seashells were found, though not as plentiful as at Noumea and Funafuti. The search for battle souvenirs was avidly pursued, despite warnings about booby traps. The author had already been sternly admonished in a letter from his mother never to touch anything of Japanese origin. Nevertheless, he and Doc Bates lost no time in hiking up a jungle trail but did not go far, since it was known that a few Japanese soldiers were still hiding out in the hills. One, in fact, had been picked up in the Marine chow line shortly before Sumter’s arrival. One liberty party went by boat up the shore to Tassafaronga, where a bloody battle had been fought with a counter-attacking Japanese invasion force. Searching for souvenirs, the sailors entered the fringe of the coconut palm forest. Instead of souvenirs they found foxholes, with skeletons in them. Speechless, the searchers returned to their boat. Also, in silence, Sumter officers and crew visited the impressive Guadalcanal graveyard and chapel, the latter beautifully constructed of native materials. Beneath the wooden crosses in the cemetery lay interred not only the remains of many Marines but also of naval personnel who had perished in the bitter and bloody encounters in “The Slot.”
No clear account can be given of the three weeks that followed the 10 March anchorage at Guadalcanal. On 14 March a detachment of Marines were embarked and 600 rations of ice cream were distributed to war-weary and jungle-stained troops, who had not see such a luxury in months. They also cherished the potatoes in their mess. REAL potatoes, not the dehydrated variety! On or about 15 March the Supply Officer received an urgent command. He was directed to take a boat and working party and proceed at once to Tulagi, where a top-secret cargo was to be loaded and brought back to the ship. Tulagi, not Guadalcanal, was where the main fleet supply depot had been set up. The trip across the bay was approximately 30 miles. Arriving at the depot, the Sumter party was informed that their cargo consisted of proximity fuses for the ship’s 5-inch .38s. They were enjoined, quite unnecessarily, to be “Goddam careful.” By the time loading was completed in late afternoon two things were happening. Threatening yellow-black clouds were piling up, and word was received that the Sumter was under orders to lift the hook at once and come to Tulagi. The Sumter working party was directed to take shelter for the night in a nearby lagoon, which proved to be adjacent to a Navy barracks. Loaded, the LCVP began to take on water badly. The storm broke: lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and the rain came down in torrents. The lagoon proved to be a small inlet fringed with jungle growth. Here the boat was beached. Darkness fell and the deluge and lightning continued off and on. Between downpours there were strange noises in the jungle, and in the poisonous black lagoon unknown creatures made horrid slurping sounds. Sumter’s Supply Officer ordered his crew to seek shelter at the Navy barracks, where they were cordially received. The Supply Officer, doubtless remembering what he had read in Naval Customs, Traditions, and Usage and feeling a bit like John Paul Jones, stayed with his boat and cargo. It was the one and only act of (mild) heroism of his entire naval career.
Tulagi also proved to be an interesting liberty port, alive with Navy personnel and also peopled with colorful natives who were selling souvenirs as fast as they could make them. “War Clubs” were hot items. Actually they were coconut openers. The natives were adept at using them for their intended purpose - holding the opener point-up between their knees and smashing a nut down on the point, with a perfectly timed twist that split the fruit apart. One Sumter officer tried it and drove the point almost through his palm. Reporting, bloodstained, back to the ship, he asked the Exec if he was entitled to a Purple Heart. The Exec did not think so. The Supply Officer, enchanted by the intelligence that mahogany was indigenous to the island, searched for a piece to sustain his wood carving endeavors. He found a magnificent plank, which comprised the seat for a CPO head. The heads on Tulagi consisted of small shacks set out in the bay some 50 feet from shore and reached by a perilous board walkway. Shack and walkway were some ten feet above water level. In a letter home he wrote:
Tulagi waters were beautiful . . . sparkling deep blues shading off, over the coral, to lustrous greens. They were also fungus-laden and there was no swimming. On 15 March mail caught up with the ship and three days later a second huge shipment was boarded. On or about 24 March the souvenir-laden Sumter left Tulagi, and probably just as well. Officers and crew settled once more into shipboard routine. There was deep dissatisfaction in the Officer Mess where the food, it appeared, was greatly inferior to that served in the crew’s General Mess. The General Mess was very good indeed . . . the best, it was said, in the fleet. The crew kept the galley spotless and the cooks knew their business. Accordingly, from late March on Officers’ Mess served food prepared below in General Mess. The Marines aboard, understandably, had few complaints. Anything would have been an improvement over their previous lot.
The Sumter, in convoy, headed northeast and into stormy seas. Spirits were high, however, for it was soon known that the destination was Pearl Harbor. The days and nights were uneventful, though General Quarters was routinely sounded at dawn and dusk. Padre Brown held many services; his messages were full of wisdom and of hope. In the darkness before dawn on 9 April 1944 - Easter Sunday - those on deck sniffed a fragrance in the air . . . . something far different from the miasmal orders that were wafted ship ward in the Solomons. Dawn broke and Oahu lay dead ahead. The ship steamed very slowly to the channel entrance in its approach to East Loch.
To starboard lay the peaked dome of Aloha Tower. Coming abreast, ship personnel stared in stunned silence at the huge clock with its gaping shrapnel wound and its hands standing eloquently still at 0751. The silence deepened further as the ship passed the 7 December carnage along Battleship Row.
Then at last . . . docking - mail - liberty! Each shipmate will have his own story about those memorable Oahu liberties. They lasted intermittently from 9 April through 3 May. Highlights included visits to Waikiki (the famous Royal Hawaiian Hotel festooned with G.I. washing hung out to dry), walks along fragrant, hibiscus-lined streets, the stalls where exotic flowers were sold, the fabulous stores, offering wares at prices few servicemen could afford to pay, the souvenir shops with their irresistible grass skirts, the breath-taking trips by native bus up over the Pali (a trip which fighter pilots at Kaneohe N.A.S. across the island absolutely refused to make!), the traditional May Day celebrations (real Hula girls - not nearly as sexy as portrayed by Hollywood), delicious Oriental and Continental food, the munching of fresh-picked papaya, delightful and emotional drunken reunions with buddies from other ships and other service branches, and much more . . . . probably much that is best forgotten.
But the war had not stopped. After minor repairs the Sumter, on 26 April, moved to a new and more convenient berth. All kinds of stores came aboard and there were incidents. A Sumter working party borrowed a forklift truck from the Supply Depot. After loading was complete the operator said, “I got liberty now. Can one of you guys drive this back up to the Depot?” No problem. “Any of you know how to run this thing?”, inquired the Sumter Supply Officer. “Sure!” replied a Sumter storekeeper, whose name shall be kept secret forever. He got in, started the motor, started up the incline from the dock, then stalled. The forklift, complete with driver, ran backward out of control, off the dock, and into 20 feet of water. The Storekeeper’s white hat floated jauntily on the surface. Eventually the Storekeeper came up; the forklift truck did not. The Sumter boat and crew shoved off in a hurry. Nothing ever came of the incident, which the Supply Officer did not feel necessary to report to his skipper. It is probably that in the wild confusion of that time and place the truck was never even missed and may be sitting there on the bottom to this day.
At this time Executive Officer R. N. Garner, suffering from foot infections and serious dental problems, was relieved from duty and sent to the hospital. He was replaced by Ben C. Gerwick Jr. Dr. Bill also left the ship and on 20 April was replaced by Dr. William L. Cover, who was designated Beach Party Medical Officer and was billeted with Gibb in Room 6, Boat Deck port. Although outranking Gibb, Cover had to settle for the top bunk because of Gibb’s prior ship service. Gibb wrote his wife that Cover seemed like a pretty decent chap but that he was far too long to fit in the bunk.
On 4 May 1944 the Sumter sailed from Pearl to the island of Maui, carrying Team 3 of the 22nd Regimental Combat Team of the 4th Marine Division. It is not known for sure that this was the unit embarked at Guadalcanal on 14 March, but this may have been so. Practice debarkations and landings were conducted at Maui through 9 May. There was at least one shore liberty on Maui, when Sumter officers visited the splendid Officers’ Club there, with considerable attendant drunkenness. One officer recalls crawling on hands and knees down the hill from the Club to his boat, head reeling from the unaccustomed hospitality.
From 10 May through the 17th Sumter was at Pearl. More loading; more liberty; and one of the biggest paydays in the ship’s history. On both the 10th and the 11th there were band concerts aboard - much appreciated. The band’s unit identity is not known. On 13 May Ensign William J. Kilroy reported for duty as Disbursing Officer, relieving Gibb at last of his dual role as both Supply and Disbursing Officer. Kilroy averred that he was NOT the celebrated character who inscribed “Kilroy was here” on head walls, in brothels, and on captured Axis equipment and installations across two hemispheres. He felt, in fact, that someone in Busanda or in CINCPAC had screwed up and he wasn’t supposed to be on the Sumter at all. Credence was given this unlikely claim a week later when Ensign Ben Cannon also reported for duty as Sumter’s Disbursing Officer. Cannon was named “Pay” and Kilroy was designated Assistant Supply Officer.
It is not without interest to note, at this time and in connection with the financial side of the war, that in 1944 a typical Lieutenant was being paid the munificent sum of $382 monthly, broken down as follows:
Base pay $200 Longevity 30 Sea duty pay 20 Rental 90 Subsistence 42
His National Service Life Insurance policy ($10,000) cost him $7.60 monthly, deducted from his pay as a voluntary allotment.
On 18 May Sumter and sister ships headed back to Maui and into a bad squall. For two days there were more practice landings - full dress rehearsals for the projected invasion of Saipan. On 20 May Sumter was back at Pearl for final loading. There were problems, not the least of which was a severe shortage of transportation and inconvenient docking arrangements. Fresh vegetables of acceptable quality were scarce. Oranges were old and shriveled up; lettuce and celery were wizened up and decayed; grapefruit was rotten. Potatoes, turnips, cabbage, and carrots were satisfactory. On 22 May the ship completed final loading. The crew had its last liberty, and made the most of it. The last mail came aboard and, following frantic letter-writing by those addicted to same, the last outgoing mail was sent ashore. On 27 May Marine artillery units were loaded. On 29 May the Sumter nosed its way out past the Aloha Tower and the crew sadly watch Oahu sink out of sight on the horizon. Yet there was an air of expectancy and suppressed excitement throughout the ship. Operation “Forager” had commenced.
OPERATION “FORAGER”SaipanSecond Battle StarThe Sumter again found itself attached to Admiral Spruance’s 5th Fleet, as part of Transdiv 26 in Task Group 52.4, Transport Group “Baker” under Captain D.W. Loomis. TG “Baker” was part of Task Force 52, the Northern Attack Force commanded by Admiral Turner. Transdiv 26 comprised APAs Callaway, Sumter, and Leon; AP Storm King; AKA Almaack; and LSDs White Marsh and Belle Grove. The Saipan assault was a bold and perilous mission, bypassing the Japanese island stronghold of Truk, striking a steel spear into Japanese home waters, and virtually certain to flush the still mighty Japanese battle fleet. Few on board knew all this but we did know we were part of a grand, worldwide battle plan. On 6 June came news, via short-wave radio, that Fortress Europe had finally been invaded. Cheers rang through the ship as the news was relayed over the P.A. system.
On 8 June 1944 Transdiv 26 put in, after a hot, boring, and uncomfortable voyage, to blisteringly hot Eniwetok Atoll for refueling. A load of potatoes came alongside, smelling so foul that the ship refused to take them aboard and ordering the grateful crew of the delivering LCM to dump the whole rotten mess into the sea. At Eniwetok there was mail and there was liberty, but there was nothing to do but swim, hunt for Cat’s Eyes, and consume the pitiful ration of beer consigned to each liberty party. Here and then took place one of the most incredible episodes of World War II.
Sumter’s Supply Officer was told to send ten cases of beer ashore for a liberty party. Now a cynical veteran, he posted his most trusted Storekeepers at key stations along the route from the cold locker in the bowels of the ship to the LCVP laying alongside at the bottom of the gangway. “Sing out, mates!” he ordered, much as Captain Ahab had exhorted his masthead lookouts in the mad quest for Moby Dick. Smartly the count rang up the passageways as the working party passed the checkpoints.
“Ten cases, sir!”
“Ten cases, sir!”
“Ten cases, sir!”
And, at the top of the gangway, under the watchful eye of the O.D., “Ten cases, sir!” And finally at the boat where SK2c Jerry Hellman, that most noble, trustworthy, and efficient of all SKs in naval service, stood in the stern sheets . . .
“Nine cases, sir!”
On 11 June the convoy left Eniwetok. The Wardroom again was the scene of intensive briefings, not only devoted to beach landings but also to identification of enemy aircraft - Zekes, Judys, Bettys, Kates, Vals, Haps. Everything on the ship was secured. Life aboard was intensely, uncomfortably burdened with security precautions. There were sentries on deck. On every side, stretching almost out of sight on the horizon, steamed the mightiest armada ever seen to that time on the Pacific Ocean . . . battle wagons, carriers, cruisers, DDs, transports, and countless other vessels. The sight stirred deep emotions and an overwhelming sense of pride. Yet, much later, the vast production was to be outdone, up-staged, by a still more magnificently stirring spectacle.
The night of 14 June was ominously still. Officers and crew not on duty slept fitfully, when they could sleep at all, “ . . . with equipment and hardware hanging all over us.” For two days there had been little to do except study the maps and photographs. Memory, eroded by passing time, does not serve to bring back into focus the events of Dog Day - 15 June 1944 - and H Hour at Saipan. At 0542 Admiral Turner gave the classic command that started amphibious assaults . . . “Land the Landing Force!” Sumter, in Transdiv 26, moved into the Transport Area. Her boats were to land on Blue Beach 1. The Official Ship’s History recounts a story that demands the personal reminiscences of those of you who hit the beaches.
Cover Documents indicate that Lieutenant E.H. York, USNR (this was “Sarge,” nephew of the illustrious World War I hero Sergeant York), in charge of the Sumter Beach Party, left the ship at 0530 on Dog Day, transferred to an LVT, and reached the beach at about 1045. Advance elements of the medical unit, which had transferred to LST 273 at Eniwetok on 9 June, went in at 0900 with the 5tha assault wave. By 1230 a medical evacuation station had been established in a group of foxholes and 30 casualties had been treated. The Medical Beach Party took care of burying 16 American and three Japanese dead on Blue Beach 1. The transports retired each night at around 1800, returning to the anchorage off Charan Kanoa around 0830 or 0900 the next morning. On the 9th day (June 24) in the area unloading was completed and the Sumter got underway at 1820 with Task Unit 52.18.15 for Eniwetok. On that night smoke was used when the transports were attacked by approximately ten planes. Smoke was effective against low-flying planes but gave little overhead coverage except to conceal ship wakes. Radical turn maneuvers were conducted in the smoke, using SG radar for position keeping. During the Saipan assault the ship’s medical department treated 128 casualties brought aboard from the beach. According to the Official Ship’s History the Bronze Star and several other commendations were presented to the Sumter’s boat group, beach party, and medical department for their efficiency and courage in action.
And the casualties . . . Memory sears them into our aging minds. They stretched, on litters, along the main Deck, awaiting entry to the dressing station in the Wardroom and to the operating room aft. S Division personnel, tears in their eyes, distributed ice cream to the wounded and the dying.
Inevitably there came the burials at sea . . . after saipan and often later, but described here. All officers and crew not on duty gathered aft. The Padre’s small organ was brought out. A solemn cortege from Sick Bay appeared, bearing a litter on which was a body, shrouded in a cocoon of carefully stitched canvas. Nestled coldly beside the corpse, inside the canvas, was a 5-inch .38 shell . . . solemn and appropriate convoy to Deep Six. The Chaplain said prayers, scarcely audible on the windswept deck. “Taps sounded, via a record thoughtfully provided in advance by USN. Pharmacist Mates lifted the inboard end of the litter and the body slowly and with dignity slid off and splashed into the sea below as Gunners Mates armed with Garrands sent three volleys crashing into the air. Padre would raise his arm, the organ sent forth its wheezy chords, and all present joined in singing that stirring old hymn:
The National anthem then blared forth from the P.A. system. Nobody spoke much afterwards.
There is no clear and detailed description of Sumter’s nine days at Saipan known to this author, nor is there any recollection of Japanese air or submarine attacks. Sumter’s Beach Party, boats, and LCC had been subjected to heavy artillery and mortar fire. The Beach Party went about its tasks under aimed small arms fire. The record of citations that went to Sumter officers and men as a result of their performance at Saipan has been preserved in part in Cover Documents. Boat Commander Lowry was awarded the Legion of Merit; R.F. Green, PHM 2/C received the Silver Star; officers Hines, Cohen, Labak, Mann, Ellison, and Cover, together with five enlisted men, received the Bronze star; Commendations went to officers Bates, Chambers, Foulkrod, and 15 enlisted men. “Sarge” York’s citation is not recorded. Making recommendations for awards was not easy. “It is difficult to find outstanding men among the general excellence.” All that Sumter’s Supply Officer had to say in letters home was simply that on Dog Day Plus One “We are working hard.” Two days later he reported that things were quieter, but there was no chance to write long letters. On 24 June he reported, “Things have been hectic – no sleep!” A few days before, he noted, there had been a dramatic sight – six big waterspouts at once, fortunately some distance away. Times of quiet were sandwiched, unpredictably and improbably, between periods of great alarm. Sumter’s Supply Officer, during one of those peaceful interludes, was fishing from the fantail when suddenly and without warning a huge geyser of water erupted not five hundred yards astern. General quarters sounded; confusion reigned in the transport area as all vessels equipped to do so commenced making smoke. This, apparently, had been a salvo from the “famed Japanese mobile battery concealed on tracks within a tunnel at the sugar mill at Charan Kanoa.
Even after the Sumter departed Saipan on 24 June, Doc Bates and his dedicated medical team were still working, virtually around the clock. Provisions had run low and General Mess had been reduced largely to Spam and bologna, the latter elegantly and inevitably labeled “Horsecock” by Navy gourmets. Bates, his face drained with fatigue, appeared in the Wardroom, his surgical garb bloodstained from an amputation. A Stewards Mate placed before him a plate of Spam. Bates looked at it for a long moment, then gently observed, “I wish I had saved that leg.”
On 28 June 1944 Sumter was back at Eniwetok. There was little there to offer a battle-weary crew except the ever-sought-after Cat’s Eyes and a little warm beer. For a week Transdiv 26 sweltered in the lagoon. Mail arrived and mail got off. On or about 12 July the ship was again underway. Ship routine took over; once more the sweepers were exhorted to man their brooms. On 14 July there was a rigorous Captain’s Inspection. Teddy Haff was a no-nonsense skipper! For two days the ocean was black and nasty . . . some were seasick, but they were afforded scant sympathy. On 20 July the fragrance of Oahu again permeated the ship – almost an aphrodisiac. Next day Sumter docked. Mail arrived. Liberty was granted. But there was much strenuous work, particularly for the Supply Division.
On 29 July our much loved and respected Padre Forrest Brown left the ship. He was replaced by Padre McGee, a veritable ball of fire fresh from Harvard Divinity School. McGee almost immediately announced that he had arranged a liberty party for officers at the lush Diamond head home of a friend. There would be 36 . . . REPEAT THIRTY-SIX! . . . dates. Real women! The Supply Division would provide filet mignon, cakes, dishes, and the Wardroom’s silver service. Sumter’s Supply Officer, busy with the war, was heard to exclaim, “Oh for Christ’s Sake!” To which the Padre might well have rejoined, “Yes, exactly!” The S.O. had been fixed up, without his prior knowledge, with an extremely cute blonde, but he felt awkward, lonesome, and tongue-tied. There were some problems with a Stewards Mate who got into the party liquor.
On 30 July 1944 Captain T.G. Haff was detached to report to the Naval Hospital at Aiea, Oahu. This may have been the result of a Jeep accident, but the author has no confirming recollection. Commander James T. O’Pry, USNR, assumed duties as Commanding Officer of the APA 52. There were no formalities to mark this change of command, any more than there had been when Haff replaced Blackledge some months earlier. Many officers did not meet or even see the new Skipper for several days. On 31 July First Lieutenant Synder was detached. Much-liked Kel Mann assumed the post of the vessels third in command. On the evening of 12 August 1944 officers and crew of the Sumter stood at the rail and watched the lights of Oahu twinkle on. Once again the ship departed that liberty paradise and headed southwest. The new Padre initiated the practice of holding Vesper services on the fantail. On or about 21 August Sumter was at the now familiar anchorage off Lunga point, Guadalcanal. Four days later mail arrived, and the next day the Supply Officer, with a working party, set off across “Ironbottom Bay” to N.S.D. Tulagi. On 28 and 29 August 1944 it appears that troops of the 81st “Wildcat” Division, U.S. Army, were embarked. There were landing exercises, which included actual shore bombardment and divebombing attacks. On 1 September there was a birthday party for APA 52. Galley Chief Johnny McPhee personally supervised the baking of a splendid cake. Executive Officer Ben Gerwick and Chief Medical Officer Ed Bates delivered appropriate speeches.
In early September there was much activity; mail kept coming. Catholic Chaplain Father O’Driscoll came aboard as part of the troop contingent. He brought with him a splendid portable organ. Supply Officer Gibb, born and bred a Universalist from a staunchly WASP New England family, listened while Father O’Driscoll whistled the melody of “Panus Angelicus.” Gibb wrote an arrangement of sorts, and thereafter played the organ at catholic as well as Protestant services. The two had profound discussions, became good friends, and on occasion secretly shared a glass of Communion wine. On 8 September 1944 the Sumter weighed anchor and departed Guadalcanan in convoy.
“STALEMATE II”AngaurThird Battle Star
The Palau Island group, lying some 1,300 miles northeast of Guadalcanal, was the stepping-stone to the Philippines. Sumter was assigned to Task Group 78.6, Reinforcement Group One, under Captain S.P. Jenkins. Other members of this unit were APAs Crescent City, Warren, Windsor, Callaway, Leon; AP Storm King; AKA Jupiter; repair ship Achilles; and four merchant ships, together with 32 LST from Flotilla 8, four destroyers, and two frigates. TG 78.6 was to hit Angaur, southernmost of the Palau group, some six miles from Peleliu. Dog Day at Peleliu was 16 September 1944. Angaur was to be assaulted the next day. The night before the anaaur landing Father O’Driscoll sought out Gibb. “I can’t take the organ to the beach,” he said. “It’s yours.”
Morison has little to say about the Angaur operation. The Official Ship’s History records it in the following words:
If memory serves, the wounded Boat Group “Commander was Gordon Lowry. He and his boat crew were cruising close inshore after the beachhead had been secured. They saw two soldiers emerge from cover and set up a machine gun, but the activity was so casual and open that they assumed the soldiers were our own. Suddenly the gun opened fire, raking the boat and wounding Lowry in the thigh. Amplification and correction of the account of this episode is invited.
Beach Party MD Bill Cover provides one other graphic story. Arriving on the beach, Cover relates, Sumter’s Beach party was amazed to find even the smallest topographical detail exactly as depicted on the maps and photographs they had been studying so intently in preceding days. These data had been provided by air reconnaissance and by photographs taken at periscope level by American submarines. Morison states that the Palau invasion was hampered by inaccurate and incomplete beachhead data. This may have been true in other areas, but not on Angaur’s Blue Beach. Doc Cover at once located the tank trap the Japanese had dug and which was clearly shown on his maps. He set up his medical station in the trap, which was perfect for the purpose. What he did not know was that in a well-concealed foxhole only 15 feet away, two very much alive Japanese soldiers were crouching. Fortunately they were discovered before they could inflict casualties. They were dispatched with hand grenades.
The Generic Sumter History states that the Sumter landed advanced assault troops and a Beach Party on Blue Beach the morning of 15 September, and on 17 September landed men of the 81st Infantry. Angaur was secured on 19 September. Sumter stood by as a casualty evacuation ship and on 23 September left with its transport group and steamed south to Seadler Harbor, Manus, in the Admiralties Island group north of New Guinea, dropping anchor on 27 September 1944. A big mail was waiting, but that was the only good thing the Sumter crew had to say about “this muddy hellhole,” where rains were torrential and the bats were “big as crows.” Manus mud, churned constantly by the wheels of shore vehicles, was peculiarly viscous and virtually defied removal from boots and pants.
It was at Manus that Skipper O’Pry provoked more than the routine grumbling that is the favorite occupation of ship’s crews everywhere. The Sumter, like other ships of its type and age, had been outfitted with two movie projectors, thus permitting a film to be run off without the interruption of changing reels. Alongside the Sumter lay a combat-battered LCI which O”Pry learned, had no movie projector whatsoever. He directed the Supply Officer to give the LCI one of ours. The s.O, exhibiting the miserly timidity of Supply Officers everywhere, mumbled something about not being able to transfer Title B Equipage without prior approval from CINCPAC, Busanda, and the President and Congress. O’Pry said he wasn’t interested in details and would assume responsibility. Off went the projector, and from that time on Sumter audiences routinely groaned, as was their duty, while waiting for reels to be changed on the remaining projector. It was one of the kinder and more Christian deeds of the pacific War. Sumter’s crew in later months would say, with obvious pride, “Know what our Goddam Skipper did? He gave those poor bastards our movie projector!”
Available records do not indicate when Sumter left manus, but on 5 October 1944 the ship was at Finchafen, New Guinea, where elements of the 10th army Corps were embarked. The ship then proceeded along the picturesque north coast of new Guinea to Hollandia, arriving there on or about 7 October. It was a fabulous place, with mud, bugs, poisonous looking jungle, and a wide, crocodile-infested river. The naval Supply Depot there contained a barbed wire enclosure within which was a veritable mountain of beer. The story went the rounds about inter-service trade-offs. The army would, it was said, permit its nurses to date Navy personnel in return for Navy beer. In the foothills lay the reputed sumptuous lodging of “Dugout Doug” MacArthur. One Sumter officer returned from the beach at Hollandia visibly shaken . . . he had just seen a real live white woman – a Red Cross worker! On or about 11 October the Sumter was once more at sea, invasion-bound.
LEYTEFourth Battle Star
Leyte was a bold stroke by the combined armed services, aimed at the very heart of the Philippines, at long last fulfilling general MacArthur’s much-publicized pledge at Corregidor, “I shall return.” Leyte’s naval invasion forces comprised the 7th Fleet under Vice Admiral Kincaid in Wasatch. The Northern attack Force was commanded by Rear Admiral Daniel E. Barbey. Sumter apparently was still a part of Task Group 78.6, as at Angaur. Morison’s account is not clear on this point and gives few details that shed light on the ship’s part in the vital Leyte stroke. The Official Ship’s History says that the Sumter debarked troops at San Pedro Bay in “record time’ on 22 October, 1944. In this area, according to Morrison’s charts, Sumter would have been part of the Northern transport Group, landing troops at White Beach, near Tacloban. Later, when censorship bans on the operation were lifted, Sumter’s Supply Officer wrote his wife:
After debarking its 10th Army Corps troops, the Sumter left Leyte Bay in convoy and proceeded to anchorage in Kossol Passage, 60 miles north of Angaur. From there the ship steamed to Apra Harbor, Guam to load elements of the 306th Infantry, 77th U.S. Army Division. Precise dates for these moves are not known, but on or about 1 November there was shore liberty at Guam. Officers and crew, with beer, swarmed ashore to search for souvenirs. The Supply Officer was given the Captain’s Jeep, in which he set forth, ostensibly on the vital mission of tracking down ice cream mix to replenish the ship’s supply of this critical commodity. The mission became a fascinating scenic tour, during which the S.O. was thrilled to see a wild water buffalo. He was less than thrilled to come across an enlisted men’s recreation party, which included many of his own Storekeepers. Under the direction of a Sumter Gunners Mate the men were busily engaged in defusing a case of Japanese hand grenades that had been unearthed. These prize souvenirs, when disarmed, went for five dollars each.
There were others who were less than thrilled by their recent experiences. One officer remarked, “On our last two operations we have been almost entirely in the dark regarding our objectives and the means of taking them . . . On Saipan we could have given a good account of ourselves wherever we might have landed because we knew every inch of the place. Since then any slip in the landing would have been disastrous. . . . The change since Saipan has been striking, and Saipan was no copy-book model of how to do it . . . No interchange of information occurs between our personnel and that of even the other ships of Transdiv 26 – Callaway, Leon & Storm King. But still the dam thing works, which proves me wrong as usual, but still puzzled.”
The tools that were getting the job done, primitive by later standards perhaps were slowly being improved. Beach Party MD Bill Cover eloquently praised “the wonderful LCM with its singing Gray Marine engine.” The workhorse LCVPs did not change but were made vastly more effective by the tardy recognition and acceptance of the technique of rail loading, instead of debarking troops over precarious cargo nets hung on the side of the transports – and of unloading casualties from bobbing boats by means of sling nets. Beach parties also welcomed the LVTs equipped with ramps that were used at Angaur, replacing the high-sided models used at Saipan. “When climbing over the side one felt so exposed!” commented Cover. And, he added, lifting a litter higher than one’s head to get it into the boat was certainly good exercise!
On 3 November 1944 the Sumter departed Guam. After a week at sea headed for new Caledonia, orders came through diverting the convoy back to Leyte, via Manus, as a reserve landing group. The ship arrived at Manus on 15 November and left two days later without getting any worthwhile supplies, although there was just enough time for some officers to have “a real bender” at the Officers’ Club. On 23 November, after working around the clock for 48 hours, the 77th Division was debarked on the right flank of White Beach, Leyte, in what the Official Ship’s History describes as “record time.” Cover Documents relate that the landing was “badly screwed up for lack of information, conflicting orders, and as a result of not being combat loaded.” There were, to be sure, some distractions. The Official Ship’s History relates:
On 24 November the Sumter’s Supply Officer and a boat crew witnessed, all too closely, what Morison graphically described as “the flaming terror of the Kamikaze.” In a letter home, the S.O. described the incident, which doubtless was part of the actions described above.
Cover Documents identify this Kamikaze as a “Hamp,” a single-engine fighter-bomber, and state that the target transport was the O’Hara. The incident was witnessed by members of the Sumter’s Beach Party, who also were jumping up and down and cheering wildly.]
Stories from the beach soon began to reach the ship. Sumter’s Beach Party found the Philippinos friendly, hard working, and helpful. The amount of Government property being traded off was “enormous” – almost all of it clothing. Further details are supplied by one of the author’s letters home. . . . .
The Sumter left Leyte in convoy on 26 November and headed south. The voyage to Hollandia was uneventful except on the 29th, when a Japanese “Zeke” was splashed within plain view of the ship, whether by naval gunfire or by aircraft is not known. Thereafter all was quiet. Flying fish left their shimmering trails on a hot, glassy sea. The equator was again crossed, and appropriate ceremonies were conducted for the relatively few Pollywogs aboard. “Kel Mann was Father Neptune and he looked quite gorgeous. We really gave Cannon and Kilroy the bumps . . . nobody was seriously injured”. In Hollandia on 8 December there was liberty. Some officers called by boat at Dombarti Village, a picturesque native community build on stilts out in the water. The Coxwain’s hand was a little heavy on the throttle as the boat came in, rousing fears that the whole village would go down like dominoes.
From Hollandia the ship proceeded to Biak Island near the tip of New Guinea. Here new landing craft were obtained and the Sumter proceeded up the New Guinea coast a short distance to Sansapor – another “Godforsaken mud hole” – to pick up troops. Precise dates for these anchorages are not known. Throughout this period there was intense activity and, occasionally, mail. There was also occasional excitement. Bogeys were frequently reported and it was at Sansapor that a spectacular scene was witnessed. At General Quarters on black night, with bogeys reported in the vicinity, those topside on the Sumter saw the tiny flickering light made by the exhaust of a Japanese reconnaissance plane, crossing high above the anchored fleet. It was an eerie and a chilling sight. Suddenly batteries of searchlights flung probing beams of light into the sky . . . tracers from shore batteries started streaming upward. The lights wove from side to side, then abruptly came into focus on the tiny silvery outline of the snooper. Tracers converged; there was a burst of orange flame in the sky. Cheers rang out from the decks of the ships below.
LINGAYEN GULF, LUZONFifth Battle StarAt Sansapor during Christmas week, 1944, elements of the 20th Infantry, 6th U.S. Army Division, were taken aboard. By 24 December loading was complete; there was holiday routine and religious services on shipboard. Officers and crew opened Christmas presents from home, carefully set aside for the occasion. On 30 December Sumter was at sea, again a part of TG 78.5, part of 7th Fleet Task Force 77, Luzon Attack Force, under Vice Admiral Kincaid in Wasatch. TG 78.5 was designated Blue Beach Attack Group, under Rear Admiral W.M. Fechteler. Transdiv 26 included, beside the Sumter, the Callaway; the AP Storm King; the AKA Jupiter; the LSV Monitor; and the LSD Gunston Hall. Callaway, commanded by Captain D.C. McNeil, steamed at the head of the Transdiv 26 column. The narrative is continued in the words of the Official Ship’s history:
Sumter personnel, many with close friends on the Callaway, will not forget the incident. At General Quarters only those topside could see all that was going on. They should tell their story. The author, in the Coding Room, heard and felt the Sumter’s guns suddenly erupt . . . tat-a-tat-a-tat from the machine guns . . . bop-bop-bop-bop from the 1.1s and 20 mm batteries . . . ka-Boom-ka-Boom from the 5-inch .38s The whole ship shook. Through the door of the Coding Room was a fleeting glimpse of a plane, black in outline, almost overhead and low, passing over us at almost leisurely speed, then disappearing from sight. Seconds later cries of outrage and anger met the author’s ears. He rushed to the nearby forward ports of the Bridge Deck and peered out. A huge column of orange flame and black smoke was erupting from the bridge area of the Callaway, which was drifting off to starboard out of control. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed. Sumter pulled hard to port. A Callaway seaman, helmeted, buoyed by his life jacket, and seemingly unhurt, was in the water beside the Sumter. He was left drifting astern, hopefully to be rescued by the convoy escort vessels. On the Callaway, damage was officially described as minor, but casualties from the gasoline fire caused by the Kamikaze were heavy . . . 28 dead; 22 wounded. The Callaway, nonetheless, played its assigned role in the Luzon attack.
After the Sumter secured from General Quarters, all officers not on duty rushed to the Wardroom. The officer in charge of the forward 5-inch .38 came crashing in, his face livid with rage and frustration. He tore off his helmet and flung it down on the Wardroom table with all his might, cursing the Skipper and Gun Control for the order to cease firing. Without question, this order was justified. By the time the Kamikaze was approaching Callaway Sumter guns could not safely continue firing and it was up to Callaway’s own gun crews to explode the smoking plane before it could make its fatal dive. Already Fleet high Command had issued a stern warning about careless and dangerous marksmanship, especially in the transport groups where many gun crews were trigger-happy and relatively inexperienced. Still, this was a fine officer in command of a fine gun crew. He might well have scored the critical bulls-eye. The risk was simply too great.
On 9 January 1945 the Sumter made the Lingayen Gulf landing – its fifth – with the San Fabian Strike Force. We are indebted to Morison for details. At 0646 the “Deploy” signal was hoisted; by 0700 the transports were in their prescribed positions. By 0715 troops were being boated. H Hour was 0930. At 0900 the signal flags for Wave 1 were two-blocked and the movement toward the beaches began. The 6thDivision’s targets were Blue Beaches 1 and 2, each about 1,000 yards long, approximately in the center of the assault area. Line of Departure was approximately 4,000 yards offshore. Blue Beach landing were unopposed; beach and surf conditions were generally good. The last organized assault wave was dispatched at 1038. Sumter’s Supply Officer found time that morning to dash off a few lines to his wife . . . “For once we are not bored to death . . . we’ve been busy making history. Done now.”
But the Sumter was not done for that historic day. In the afternoon she lay quietly at anchor, secured from General Quarters. After lunch Supply Officer Gibb took his handline and headed for the fantail. The bay was studded with ships. Astern of the Sumter, several hundred yards away, lay the heavy cruiser H.M.A.S. Australia, already four times the target for Kamikaze attacks. Two Sumter CPOs stood chatting portside near the after gun platforms.
Sumter’s S.O. sensed rather than heard something unusual suddenly taking place. Looking to port he saw a plane, once again no more than a black silhouette, nosed over in a steep dive on a ship a few hundred yards away. Two hundred feet above and astern of the ship a black object detached from the plane and plunged downward. “My god!” the S.O. thought, incredulous, “That’s a bomb!” There was a great explosion and geyser of water just under the target vessel’s fantail. Just at that moment the S.O. suddenly realized that guns were pounding all over the bay, tracers were flying, and General Quarters was being sounded. He dropped his line and started to run to his battle station . . . then he froze. The Japanese plane had pulled out of its dive-bombing run, had banked sharply left, and was headed straight for the Sumter. Later, the two Chiefs, who from where they stood could not see what was happening, confided that the Supply Officer’s behavior convinced them that they were done for. They saw the S.O. go into a rigid crouch, white-faced. Later Gibb told the, “It wasn’t so much that I was scared stiff. I was just getting ready to jump one way or another – forward, aft, or overboard!”
Sumter’s guns were now blazing; the Japanese plane was smoking but coming on and obviously heading to crash the Sumter. Only a hundred yards away the plane suddenly banked right, passing no more than 50 feet over the Sumter’s fantail. Those back there topside could plainly see the helmeted pilot, imperturbably looking from left to right, his neck swarthed in a white scarf. Then he was no longer looking at Sumter. The Kamikaze flew away astern, bracketed by Sumter tracers. It headed straight for the Australia, went into a long, wobbly glide, neatly sheared off one of the Aussie cruiser’s stacks, and crashed into the sea. “The bastard decided we weren’t good enough for him!” exclaimed a Gunners mate, and it was then that the ship acquired another nickname. Already it had been known to all aboard as “Bad luck Sumter,” “Sumter-Maru,”, simply, as “The Old Bucket.” Now it became “Not-Worth-A-Shot-Sumter.”
The next day – 10 January – Sumter was steaming on a peaceful sea. The S.O. proudly wrote his wife: “For one week the Sumter was not a troop ferry but a fighting ship!” Two days later the vessel was at anchor at Leyte. On 13 January Skipper O’Pry called officers and crew together to announce that the ship had received a commendation from the Admiral. Unloading at Lingayen had been accomplished in record time, under almost constant attack or threat of attack. Down in the galley Murphy the Baker had not even scorched the biscuits.
Small things happened that participants afterwards found difficulty in describing, or even talking about. On the Luzon invasion, as on preceding ones, religious services were held daily below deck in the Mess Hall once the ship was loaded and underway. Attendance at first would tend to be sparse. It built up each day the vessel progressed toward its assigned assault target. On Dog Day Minus One there would be standing room only. This understandable phenomenon was most noticeable prior to the Kwajalein invasion, when the ship carried troops yet to see combat, but it happened in greater or lesser degree before every assault in which the ship participated. The services provided deeply moving moments. Somewhere on the perilous transit past Negros, Panay, and Mindoro, en-route to Lingayen Gulf, a service was being conducted for the infantry troops aboard, who packed the mess hall. General Quarters sounded; almost at once the ship’s guns opened up. The men in attendance were visibly nervous. With a nod from the padre, the organist turned to Hymn 86 and began to play, with all stops out. As the chords peeled forth in the crowded room the troops joined their voices in a swelling crescendo of “Onward Christian Soldiers,” while the ship shivered and shook from the recoil of topside batteries. At the conclusion of Verse One the organist jumped up from his chair, jammed on his helmet, and raced for his Battle Station.
At Leyte, the Sumter embarked elements of the 32nd Division of the U.S. 8th Army, bringing them back to Rabon Shoals, Lingayen Gulf, where once again debarkation, on 15 January 1945, was accomplished in record time. The vessel then returned to Leyte for refueling, then departed for hated Manus, where it was granted two days’ availability at the Advanced Base Sectional Dry-dock number 3, said to be the largest floating dry-dock in the world. It appears that the ship anchored at Manus on 20 January, but available records do not date exactly the movements of the ship throughout much of January and February.
In any case, on 20 January mail poured in. The next day there was Captain’s Inspection. The ship was “swarming with souvenirs.” There was also livestock aboard . . . a scrawny puppy, monkeys, and a parrot named McCoy. McCoy knew one phrase only, which he repeated loudly, clearly, and often . . . “DON’T F- -K WITH McCOY!” On 21 January Kel Mann, who at an unknown date had replaced Ben Gerwick as Executive officer, was detached. He was replaced by genial John Carroll, possibly the only officer aboard, excepting the Skipper and the padres, whose language still remained virgin of naval profanity. Doc Bates took Mann’s departure hard; they had been close friends. Doc and his medical staff were also exhausted from their duties, especially from a fad which at this time swept the ship. Everyone, it appeared, who had not been circumcised in infancy now wished to have the operation performed – at Navy expense.
On 3 February 1945 Sumter was at sea. On or about 7 February the vessel made anchorage, probably off Kukum, Guadalcanal. Ten days of hardest labor followed as supplies and troops – elements of the 22nd Regimental Combat Team of the 6th Marine Division – were loaded and training exercises were held. These went badly due to conflicts of authority. However, there was liberty and an Officers’ Club of sorts, where a certain amount of drunkenness inevitably and as usual took place. By 13 February, after laboring through the night, work was concluded and the ship made ready to sail.
For the next two weeks letters home recorded great activity, very hard work, intermittent mail, considerable liberty, and a growing air of expectancy. Most of the Sumter’s personnel were suffering miserably from heat rash. Throughout this period, according to the Official Ship’s History, staging exercises and practice landing were being conducted, presumably at Guadalcanal. The ship left Guadalcanal on 14 March 1945 and on 22 March appears to have been anchored at Ulithi Atoll, where advance elements of assault troops and the Sumter Beach party was transferred to LSTs. The place was described in a letter home as being “just what you’d expect a lovely tropical island to be.” But tragedy struck. On a recreation party to the beach four of the Sumter’s crew (Durham, St.Claire, DiMarchi, and Howe) were swept out to sea in a tidal rip and were drowned. The incident and subsequent investigation caused great stress on shipboard. On 25 March Palm Sunday services were held. Excitement had mounted to fever pitch. On the evening of 27 March 1945 the Sumter was at sea, nosing into heavy swells and rolling as well. She had on board 65 Marine officers and 1,287 Marine enlisted men.
OPERATION “ICEBERG”OkinawaSixth Battle Star
Sumter was in Comtransdiv 36, which comprised APAs Monrovia, Wayne, Menifer, and Fuller; AKAs Acquarius and Circe; LSD Casa Grande; and LSV Catskill. Comtransdiv 36, in turn, was part of Task Group 53.1, Transport Group “Able,” under command of Commodore B.B. Knowles. TG 53.1 was one element in 5th Fleet Task Force 53 – Northern Attack Force, under Rear Admiral L.F. Reifsnyder in Panamint.
Across the pale waters of the Western Pacific stretched one of the mightiest fleets in the history of naval warfare . . . a deeply thrilling and magnificent sight perhaps never to be seen again. Words do not suffice to describe the spectacle; the music of Richard Rodgers’ “Victory at Sea” comes closest to conveying the feeling of awed pride experienced by the Sumter’s seasoned veterans, already familiar with awesome scenes of conflict. Yet even great and solemn moments in history can be flawed by the pratfalls of human error. Far astern of the Sumter two enormous carriers, with thousands of yards of ocean maneuverability surrounding them, slowly and inexplicably, as if pulled by giant unseen magnets, drew together and collided.
On the evening of 30 March 1945 Good Friday services were held. The Mess Hall was jammed. Passover services were also conducted and were followed by a Passover Feast consisting of grape juice, oranges, and candy from the Ship’s Store. Easter services were held the next day; there would be none on Sunday.
L Day at Okinawa was Easter Sunday, 1 April 1945. Available records of Sumter’s role in this climactic operation are fragmentary in the extreme. The Official Ship’s History devotes two short paragraphs to the story. Morison records in detail only the assault by the Southern Attack Force, which he personally witnessed, and includes no charts of the beaches where Sumter boats landed. Instead, he devotes most of his narrative, and perhaps justly so, to the spectacular naval engagements that raged for seven days. The Official Ship’s History has only this to say:
From Cover Documents we learn that the Beach Party MD and four corpsmen were boated in the Salvage Boat and followed the third wave of LVTs to the beach. Dr. Cover felt that the medical unit should have landed earlier to care for earlier wave casualties. They were relieved at 1200 on 2 April by a party from the Leon, but remained on the beach until 0930 on 3 April.
Personal memory brings back into focus once more the crashing naval bombardment that preceded the landings . . . the belching fury of the battlewagons’ sixteen-inch salvos. Bogeys were everywhere, especially in the evening that time so eloquently described by Morison as “the children’s hour of the kamikaze.” There was much indiscriminate anti-aircraft firing. Sumter staged in the Northern transport Area off the Hagushi beaches for two days before sortieing in convoy for the night. The nightly sortie had long been standard operating practice, dictated by fear that transports massed off invasion beaches provided too tempting and easy a target for air attack. At Okinawa, however, retiring to sea meant out of the frying pan and into the fire. Japanese attempts to penetrate the protective screen of radar picket boats; LCIs, destroyers, light cruisers, and various other types of surface patrol craft were incessant. The screening forces took many hits but performed heroically, Admiral Turner, observing that the improvement in artificial smoking made the transports safer near shore than at sea, canceled night retirements thereafter.
At sea and underway on 5 April, Sumter’s crew and officers started to relax. There were many stories to be heard and many war souvenirs to be bargained for. The pre-assault bombardment had blasted open ancient Okinawan tombs. Beach party MD Bill Cover reported that the landscape was strewn with beautiful pottery, most but not all of it shattered. He brought his roommate back two small dishes, which must later were discovered to be of museum quality. That evening everyone on board was exhilarated. Holiday routine was declared. A splendid fried chicken dinner with real potatoes was served. But, in immediately following days, there were flies in the ointment of victory. Doc Bates and Doc Cover both complained bitterly about being devoured by bedbugs. Also, weevils were discovered in the Wardroom bread. Many of Sumter’s personnel busied themselves making bracelets out of aluminum from a downed Japanese aircraft. In the Supply Office, Disbursing Officer Cannon and Assistant Supply Officer Kilroy jousted at cribbage. Doc Bates had finally taken up Acey-Duecy and his spirits seemed markedly improved. Below decks, crap games, for astronomical stakes, surreptitiously raged. In one of the 1st Platform storerooms, Storekeepers played Hearts continuously and expertly, and were aghast when the Supply Officer sat in and won a game, for money. Whereupon the Supply Officer decided to give a party to celebrate the victory. Murphy the Baker produced a cake two feet in diameter, but what should go on the top? Murph finally squeezed out in heavy red frosting the message, “YOU OWE ME 91 CENTS.” “Everybody who WAS anybody” was invited to join the festivities.
At Saipan, on 9 April, mail arrived and the ship seethed with wild scuttlebutt. Late on the afternoon of 13 April news of the death of President Franklin D. Roosevelt reached the ship and was conveyed to the crew over the P.A. speakers. “It was almost unbelievable!” Great discussions about the Roosevelt era followed on. SK3/c Walter Ruczinski said he didn’t know much about it all. All he knew was than when he needed a job – bad – Roosevelt game him one. On Sunday morning, 15 April, there were memorial services on deck for the dead president. Holiday routine was observed; roast turkey was served for dinner.
Date of departure from Saipan by the Sumter is not known. Possibly it was 14 April. The Official Ship’s History for this period is incomplete. On 22 April the vessel was once more in Pearl Harbor. The ship was “a bedlam . . . a state of suspended animation . . . spirits high!” The next day the Sumter weighed anchor and started steaming . . . EAST! Monday, 30 April 1945 was the day Sumter veterans had dreamed about for many long, hot, and trying months:
Each Sumter veteran will have his stories to tell, or not tell, of the days and weeks that followed – at Pedro first, then, after 15 days, at Dago. There was the initial rush to telephones, then for gold braid to mark promotions that had come through at sea. “The boys are really going to town. Some mighty pale and haggard faces around here in the A.M.!” Reunions were sweet for many; others waited. Radios in officers’ quarters blared forth the top popular hit tune of the day – appropriately, “My Dreams Are Getting Better All the Time.” In those same quarters there was laughter and the tinkling of glasses – also, and very frequently, female voices. Everyone was treated like a hero, and felt like one. The festive mood was pumped up to bursting point by the celebration of VE Day. The Sumter Supply Officer was given a party by his Storekeepers. Murphy the Baker prepared a cake with the message “So Long Mr. Gibb.” Gibb’s replacement, Charles M. McClanahan, reported for duty and the accounts were transferred. Skipper O’Pry endorsed Gibb’s orders and on 27 May 1945 the first of Sumter’s personnel to set foot on its deck stepped to the quarterdeck, saluted the flag, and walked down the gangway for the last time. It was a difficult moment, when deep and sharply conflicting emotions blended together in a wild emotional broth.
Leaving Los Angeles harbor in July, after two brief months in the United States, the Sumter held a shakedown cruise off San Diego, testing out new guns and equipment. Later in the month she returned to Los Angeles to load troops before going overseas again. Departing San Pedro Bay on 21 July 1945 loaded with 86 officers and 1,341 enlisted Army troops, the next stop was Eniwetok, where the Sumter refueled before proceeding to Ulithi, thence to Leyte and Manila Bay, Luzon, where on 15 August 1945, as the war with Japan came to an end, the troops were debarked.
With the end of the war, all activities aboard the Sumter were turned to occupational operations of the Japanese home islands. Proceeding to Lingayen Gulf, the 130th Battalion of the 33rd Infantry Division was embarked on 9 September for transportation to Wakayama, Honshu Island, Japan. Upon anchoring in Kii Suido on 25 September, the troops of the 33rd Division were debarked in assault landing manner. Despite poor beaches and adverse conditions, unloading was completed quickly and the Sumter sortied with Transport Squadron 14 on 26 September, heading for Leyte via Balingtang Channel and Subic Bay in the Philippines, arriving there on 1 October.
Encountering her first typhoon enroute, the ship rode on the edge of the storm off the Bubuyan Islands. Coming through without damage, she proceeded to Leyte via the San Bernadino Strait. The vessel was then ordered to Talomo, Mindinao, where she embarked troops of the 24th Infantry Division on 10 October for transportation to the Island of Shikoku, Japan.
After landing at Maysuyama, the Sumter was assigned to the “Magic Carpet” fleet. She loaded with high-point Navy men at Subic Bay, Luzon, then headed homeward, arriving in Seattle on 22 November 1945. On 1 December Captain Earl K. Van Swearingen, USN, relieved Commander O’Pry as Commanding Officer. On 4 January 1946 the ship got underway for Samar. Two days later, however, her orders were canceled and she returned to Seattle. On 10 January 1946 Lieutenant Commander Matthew J. Winkel, USNR, assumed command, only to be relieved on 22 January by Lieutenant Commander Frank J. Callahan, USNR. The ship then received orders to report to the 8th Naval District for disposition.
After fueling and transferring her landing craft at San Pedro, the Sumter transited the panama Canal and arrived at New Orleans on 15 February for decommissioning. From there she went to the Paul Johnson Shipyard at Algiers, Louisiana. After a short stay at the shipyard she moved to Mobile, Alabama and on 19 March 1946 she was decommissioned at the Gulf Shipbuilding Corporation at Chickasaw, Alabama. The name of the ship was struck from the Navy List on 17 April 1946 and the vessel was returned on 1 August 1946 to the custody of the War Shipping Administration in Mobile, where her name Iberville was restored. This name was later changed to Gateway City.
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Eventually and at an unknown date the ship that had been the U.S.S. Sumter, APA 52 was anchored, it is said, in a fleet of derelicts and mothballed former naval vessels out in the stream in the upper Hudson River. After several years there, the ship came to its end, without military honors or notice, at some unidentified shipyard.
The U.S.S. Sumter, APA 52 . . . “Badluck Sumter” – “Sumter-Maru” – “The Ship Not Worth A Shot” – “The Old Bucket” . . . . What helmeted, life-jacketed ghosts roamed your silent, rusting decks and passageways in those last inglorious days afloat? In naval history yours was a small role and your deeds went mostly unsung. Those who trod your decks often cursed an reviled you. But now, at last, the few of us still left will remember and honor you as long as we live, and be proud we trod those decks. Perhaps after all, in the deep shadows of your humble history, a tiny flame of heroism flickers. Perhaps a small gleam of glory shines through your rust.
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