SN DENNIS R. YORK 25 November 1963-67

I Dennis R. York was born 24 July 1946, at Watertown, South Dakota. My hair was brown and my eyes are hazel. I enlisted in the navy at Sioux Falls, South Dakota 8 August 1963, and went to boot camp in San Diego, California. On 25 November 1963, I reported on board USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754) to 1 Division. I was a Boatswain Mate Striker.

Dennis currently resides at 709 1 St. SW., Watertown, SD, 57201- st 4714. You can reach him at 605-880-0287.

SN KEN THRAILKILL 18 October 1961-63

I Ken Thrailkill “Killer” was born 2 June 1943, at Colorado Springs, Colorado. My hair was brown, my eyes are blue. I enlisted in the Navy at Colorado Springs in September 1960.I was 17 years old and went to boot camp at Great Lakes. I went aboard USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754) 18 October 1961, in the 1st Division where I was a deck hand.

I had an all around great cruise on board FRANK E. EVANS; had good friends and good times.

“Killer” currently resides at 118 E. Laura Lane, Knoxville, Iowa. You can reach him at kthrailkill@co.marion.ia.us or 641-842-4592 (home) or 641-828-2244 (business) or 641-891-5922 (cell).

BT 2 JERRY. L. STEPHENSON 20 April 1962

I “Steve,” was born on a farm east of Bremen, Ohio, 26 June 1941. My hair and eyes were brown. I entered the Navy 12 August 1958, at Lancaster, Ohio and went to San Diego for recruit training because Great Lakes was closed for renovation. I was in Company 492,a brigade winner.

I joined the Navy to be a pilot via the Silver Eagles program but as you can see I wasn’t even close. My first ship was USS DEHAVEN (DD 727). I made Westpac cruises on her as well as put her through FRAM at Hunters Point Naval Shipyard, San Francisco. After 3+ years in her, I reenlisted for BT “B” school in Philadelphia. After graduating in February 1962 I received orders for USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754). I was a happy puppy to be going back to the 2200 ton destroyers.

As BT2 JERRY L. STEPHENSON, I was aboard USS FRANK E. EVANS for about nine months in 1962. I was assigned to “B” Division. Prior to departing for Westpac, all of the ORI drills for the steam plant, as well as the rest of the ship, had been conducted. During a full power run, the fuel oil heaters in the forward fireroom blew a gasket resulting in a fuel spill and a stop bell. I was assigned After Fireroom. Of course this was a very big moment for us deep hole snipes. I remembered that we came out of that steaming auxiliary on #3 boiler. If memory serves me correctly, it happened again shortly after resuming full power trials. What a day!

FRANK E. EVANS departed for Westpac in June 1962. During the deployment, while tied up along side USS DIXIE in Sasebo, Japan, I met a BT2 who was not happy with service on a repair ship. In my mind, repair ships were the closest thing to shore duty a BT could get in those days. We managed a swap and that ended my tour of duty aboard USS FRANK E. EVANS.

I eventually went to Nuclear Power school, stayed as an Instructor and then spent over four years on board USS LONG BEACH (CGN 9), including Vietnam deployments. My last ship was USS SPIEGEL GROVE LSD-32 out of Little Creek, Virginia. I had numerous Caribbean and Mediterranean cruises to go along with the Westpac tours.

I retired as a BTC with 22 years service, with 12 years active and 10 years reserve. I then spent the rest of my working life as a Stationary Engineer and a Boiler Inspector.

Currently, Jerry L. Stephenson, BTC USN Retired resides at 2340 Pumpkinvine Road SE, Lancaster, Ohio 43130-8010. You can reach him at JerryDD727@aol.com or by phone at Home 740-569-1053, or his Cell 740-503-2073.

PC3 Charles Michael “Mike” Smith 1968-1969

Memories of USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754) returned to me as my wife and sons toured USS LAFFEY (DD 724) at Patriots Point in Charleston about seven years ago. This was my first time on a destroyer since that night of June 3 . I asked my family to go on ahead and let me stay a few more minutes rd and reflect on events, since this was Memorial Day.

After one final walk through the ship, I slowly started back toward the prow that led to the pier where reality starts again. I had to stop and look back one more time, for I was sure I heard a voice from the past call out, “Get a haircut Postman.” I was confident that no one was there, but I could feel the old crew watching me. I was convinced that we had spent the last hours mingling in the presence of heroes. I was aware that many of the words I spoke that day were not for anyone present in the flesh. I know that our 74 brave sailors rest in glory down in King Neptune’s hallowed ground and their souls are in Heaven sitting at the right hand of our God, but their memories will follow me and the other EVANS survivors, forever.

As we walked the decks of this old destroyer, memories had started flowing from somewhere in the back of my mind where I had buried them so long ago. This day is not a day for selfish thoughts so I turned my remembrances to the crew, ports, and pleasant things and this is what I wrote. I remember USS FRANK E. EVANS in Long Beach shipyard so far out on the mole that we had to take the old raggedy Navy bus out to her.

I remember EVANS in the shipyard covered with the orange and yellow primer and soon afterward, she was completely gray with all new equipment and modern weapons.

I remember my first rack, top bunk under the 1MC loud speaker. When reveille was sounded the next morning, I jumped up and hit my head on one of the overhead pipes.

Then there were the short cold showers, the distinct stench of the scullery, and standing fire watches for the civilian welders as they transformed our old tin can into a superior fighting ship.

I remember how amazed I was to see EVANS in dry dock with no water to float her. Then the first time we went out past the breakwater, which would determine if I was going to be sea sick; that is when I first learned to respect the moods of this enormous ocean that was to be our front yard, which we would sail over for the next two years.

I remember the calm beauty of the sea, but I couldn’t comprehend how angry and deadly it could get. I feared the lightning storms and the concern of the restless waves that washed up on the bridge and drenched all of us on watch.

I remember our cruise to Hawaii and taking bearings of Diamond Head for the XO. One of the greatest
and most humbling experiences was the manning the rails in dress whites with an appreciated and
reverend salute to USS ARIZONA and all who perished that December day.

The Post Office where I handed out the mail, the only links we had to love ones back home and how frustrated and angry I was when I learn that our mail had been mis-routed.

I remember the glorious sun set behind Mt Fuji and the depressing slums of Olongapo, and of course, the time we ran out of fresh water and how thirsty we became.

I remember the big five-inch guns blasting away at the coastline of Vietnam and then at night firing illuminating shells so the Marines could see to continue their battle. That’s when I moved to a lower bunk because my top rack was filled with paint chips and asbestos dust.

I remember buying the Tonkin Gulf Yacht Club patch to go on my work jacket with the other patches as a map of memories to all the places I had been.

Then there was an oyster I purchased in Japan that was guaranteed to have a pearl growing in it; a material reminder from King Solomon that God has treasures hidden all over his beautiful earth. I sent it back home to my girl friend where she set it in a ring to reveal my love for her.

I remember how lonely Christmas was as we sat gazing at the decorated tree with festive holiday music tenderly playing in the background. Even though the adorned mess decks were crowded, it was unusually quiet throughout. No one was talking, and we all wondered if our family would think of us during this special season. I overheard Melvin softly whisper, “Happy Birthday Jesus!” God, we were so young and innocent.

I remembered how awful it was the first time we ran out of milk and eggs and went to powered, but then I remember how good ice cream was and how enjoyable the weekly “Star Trek” and “Mission Impossible” TV series could be.

Learning new card games from friends on the mess decks. I didn’t realize then, but we were becoming more than just friends; we were an elite Destroyer Family.

Finally, I remembered my last evening aboard EVANS, a new movie on the mess decks, then laughing, talking and playing cards in a smoke filled Sonar room until almost midnight with friends I would only see again in nightmares.

Life on a small ship like our destroyer goes deep in your blood, and of all the men aboard, I hate that I can remember so few, especially on this Memorial Day when as the postal clerk, I should be able to remember everyone onboard USS FRANK E. EVANS. I don’t want to spoil it by forgetting any crew member especially one of the 74, for this is their day.

On the 3rd day of every June, I’ll be up early to pay my respects. I’ll be up late remembering. SALUTE!

RM2 THOMAS JAMES RODMAN 10 December 1964

After completing RM “A” school in November 1964, I was received for duty on board USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754) where I served as a radioman in the OC Division until December 1967.

MAMA BEAR & BABY BEAR…

We were running a port & starboard watch. I had showered, shaved, and was ready to head for the chow line. I chose to go out the fantail scuttle and take a picture or two. It was another beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, not much goin’ on. Naw, got plenty of photos of the wake, so I left my camera below. Mistake!

Half way up the ladder, I heard a loud, gettin’ louder, jet engine sound. We weren’t operating with a carrier. I hurried up the ladder to see what’s the matter. Much to my surprise I saw, not 200 feet from me, mama bear and baby bear, 50 feet above sea level, starboard. WOW! If I only had a camera, what a great photo op. It’s as clear in my mind, as if it happened yesterday. I could see the pilot, the huge red star, the guy in the side observation bubble in his flight helmet. He was grinning and waving as if to say, “Gotcha!”

Needless to say, I next heard, “General Quarters,” (twice) “All hands man your battle station… This is not a drill…

Divine Intervention

The year 1966; location Taiwan Straits; area between mainland China and the island of Taiwan. We’d been on the Taiwan patrol for almost two weeks. The captain is “upset” to put it mildly, because the ORESTES broadcast is garbled. (Unable to read teletype messages sent to the USS FRANK E. EVANS.) We are the only ship on patrol so, we’re running in the blind.

Mid-watch 24 September 1966, I’m called to the teletype to witness an amazing happening. “Look at this Rodman,” it’s a message from the Red Cross informing me of the birth of our first baby, a healthy girl. Every number and letter is in its proper location, a perfect receipt of “Traffic.”

Well! Damn! The “old man” wants to see immediately all messages that are decipherable. I call the bridge, reluctantly, to let Capt. Hanson know I’m coming up with “A” just received perfect unclassified message. He says, “Bring-R-up son.” Boy, am I proud and I’m also aware of one glaring fact, this is the only message we’ve received and it’s perfect…

I put the message on the routing board and I’m off to the bridge. It’s a beautiful night, calm sea, clear, lots of stars. He’s waiting for me and says, “Let’s see what you’ve got there Rodman.” I hand him the board, he reads the message, smiles and says, “You know what this is Rodman?! This is divine intervention. Congratulations!”

Guys I remember: Ron Koppang, Neil Burnside, Gary Catron, and Robert Shultz.

Tom and his wife Sandy celebrated 42 years of marriage and currently reside at 10849 Prescott Road in Licking, Missouri 65542. That’s in the Ozarks where Tom built a log home from trees cut on the property using the Scandinavian scribe method. You can reach him at tjsjrodman@yahoo.com or 573-674-4449.

EM2 STEVEN T. PAINTER 28 September 1963

I Steven Thomas Painter was originally aboard USS WATTS (DD 567). I transferred aboard USS FRANK E. EVANS for about a year, starting in summer of 1963. I wanted to make on more Westpac cruise before getting out. My hitch was up a year later in September. I thought the Navy was going to extend me due to the Vietnam War, but they let me out.

I remember the day JFK was shot, 22 November 1963. We were about a day out of Yokosuka, Japan. All the crew were stunned.

The electricians were restricted to the ship when in Hong Kong because the dress ship lights were not completed. Everyone was unhappy about that.

I just got done reading Jo Stephenson’s book, “In the Wake.” Wow, what a story!

A Survivor’s Account

Submitted by Andrew (Joe) Mulitsch MMFN

As a new Fireman (MMFN), I was ordered to report in early February 1969, to USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754), home ported in Long Beach, California. I had just completed Machinist Mate “A” School at Great Lakes Naval Training Center. FRANK E. EVANS was my first ship and now my new home as I was assigned a bunk in the rear berthing compartment, just forward and below the aft five inch gun. My rack consisted of a piece of canvas stitched amidst a metal pipe frame with a two inch thick, or so, mattress. Imanaged to acquire some accessories for my rack – two adjustable straps with hooks at either end that kept me in place during rough seas. I had a locker on the deck under my rack that was about thirty inches square, and not a foot deep. This was my home and where I could stow all my uniforms and personal possessions.

I was then introduced to the forward engine room (Main Control) where I worked and stood my watches. Work generally consisted of chipping, wire brushing, and painting the various pieces of machinery, mostly pumps that fed the boilers, usually the forward fire room. Our turbines turned the starboard screw to propel the ship. We also made electricity for the ship and distilled fresh water for the boilers and the crew to drink and shower. Since I was an MMFN striker, with school, I was sometimes allowed to pack a valve under close supervision by one of the petty officers. Mostly, I found myself in the bilges cleaning and painting.

FRANK E. EVANS was an old proud ship from WWII, Korea, and now she was going back to Vietnam. Shortly after I went aboard, we departed for a short 10-day shakedown cruise that introduced me to seasickness. I always was able to make the adjustment within a day or two although it has really never gone away as my subsequent exploits at sea have continued to remind me. A week or so after our little excursion up and down the California coast we left for Pearl Harbor en route to the western Pacific, (WESTPAC) – Vietnam.

I remember being in Pearl. We mustered one morning to be entertained by WWII Zero replicas diving at a mock-up of the Pearl fleet as it was on 7 December 1941. We found out later, they were filming the epic, “TORA, TORA, TORA.” After refuelling and reprovisioning, we set off to Yokosuka, Japan, then on to Subic Bay in the Philippine Islands; more fuel and food. During these excursions there was liberty. Time off to leave the ship for free time to yourself. As a healthy 19-year-old male, I found out how to drink and have a great time ashore as all sailors do.

We had anchored just off the coast one day after doing some firing, when all of a sudden, there were splashes with loud reports along the shoreline. We were immediately called to general quarters. After a few minutes, it was determined that the U. S. Army was over-shooting their target. When they finally got it all sorted out, we were back to sunning on the fantail with a leery eye to the shore.

Every day or two we put out to sea for underway replenishment. We took on fuel, food, and ammo from the supply ship. This evolution required an all hands working party. As the supplies were sent over to our ship, we formed human chains and passed a box, or a shell, or a powder casing from man to man until it reached its respective storage area. Imagine this is all taking place while two ships are tethered together doing 15 knots, or so, alongside each other, and we are all balancing ourselves on the pitching deck. Even when the waters were smooth the ship had a tendency to roll back and forth, and up and down, and it never stopped.

After our stint on the gun line, we went back to Manila and joined forces with many SEATO countries with many more ships. Australia provided the aircraft carrier for this exercise and show of force, HMAS MELBOURNE. We had met some of the Australian Sailors while on liberty in Manila. I was thankful for my tutorial on drinking and put my limited previous experience to good use. I now knew I was not going to die, it was just a hangover.

I remember being on deck as we slid effortlessly through the serene waters of the South China Sea. Beautiful! A moonlit night and everything was good. We were scheduled to be in Thailand in a few days and we were all looking forward to some great, well earned, liberty. It was about 2200. Since I had the midwatch (0000-0400), and my 19-year-old logic told me I needed some sleep, I retired.

My watch on 3 June 1969, was supposed to have been the messenger. On that morning I asked the lower level watch, MM3 Roy Peters, to trade watches so I could get the necessary experience to become qualified for that position. Everything went well. Around 0300, Peters went aft to wake the next watch and he sent me forward to wake up the chief for the next watch, 0400-0800. Chief’s berthing was all the way forward. I woke up Chief Vernon Cash and returned to the engine room and took more temperature and pressure readings on the equipment in my area on the lower level. There were six of us in Main Control with Boiler Tender Chief Senior Macayan in charge, Fireman Bob Lockwood was on throttles, Fireman Terry (Boot) Baughman was on the evaporators, Fireman Michael Peacock was the electrician on the switchboard, MM3 Roy Peters had the messenger assignment and I, MMFN Andrew (Joe) Mulitsch, was on the lower level.

The watch was nearly over. I had just completed work on my log sheet when I decided to go up to the upper level. It was some time after 0310. I grabbed the ladder with one foot on the bottom rung. All at once the ship rose up and the lights went out! Water began rushing in from everywhere. I was swept up in the darkness, under the water with whatever last breath I had taken. My mind was working with so many thoughts simultaneously. I was looking for the hole where the ladder went up and onto the upper level. I was looking for an air pocket where I could get more breath, all the while thinking of what my family would think about me being gone, my girlfriend, what happened?

I had nearly met my limit and was resigned to die. There seemed to be some strange sort of peace and a bright light, oxygen deprivation, I suppose. Woosh! I popped up through the surface of the water. I got a breath! I felt exhilarated and calm all at the same time! The surroundings were all black. The loud sounds of the engine room had given way to some sobbing and whines of pain. There was a slight hissing sound and the air was dank with the smell and taste of steam. I immediately began looking up for the hatch and an escape from what I did not know. I did know there was a battle lantern at the top of the hatch. There it was, a faint, dim brown beam of light across the hatch at the top of the ladder. Unfortunately, the ladder was gone. I knew there was a handheld lantern there as well. I yelled out, “Here it is, here is the way out!” I tried to get to that handheld lantern by climbing up and grabbing a pipe. It was a hot steam line and immediately released it from my grasp. I then found an adjacent compressed air line that provided a secure hand hold. As I got mid-thigh out of the water and was rising up towards the hatch, I felt a tug on my belt. I was pulled back into the water. I turned and grabbed my anxious shipmate and pushed him ahead of me. We both struggled. He rolled out on the deck. I recognized it was the Chief. He was disconsolate. I momentarily tried to bring him to his senses but to no avail. I turned around. There stood Michael Peacock, the electrician. He was smiling. I’ll never for get that smile! We then began helping our other shipmates up and out onto the deck. We were all accounted for and began moving about until we went out on the starboard side. As I looked aft I could see the motor whaleboat hanging in two pieces from its davits. I thought maybe a plane had crashed into us. I stepped back and then turned forward. To my total amazement the forward part of the ship was gone! I looked up to the port side and there sat MELBOURNE. I cursed her for what she had done to my ship.

I’ve lived with this over and over in my head for so many years. I am sharing it one more time. I now understand many things beyond my grasp then and out of my control now. I was 19 years old then and searching for my niche in life. I was fortunate and finally got it together later rather than sooner. How does one measure survival? Why was I spared when just a few feet away so many of my shipmates died? Everyone I ate dinner with that night perished. Two of them were young officers, Ensigns, that were learning as I was learning from another perspective.

I went to Australia for the 40 memorial. There I met many Australians who were also still deeply affected by this truly tragic event that occurred so many years and so many lives ago. I always thought the Australians were the true heroes that night. They did so much to save many lives and have carried the heavy burden of the lives of our 74 that were lost.

I cannot understand the recalcitrance of our own government to acknowledge the event for what it was: 74 lives lost during the Vietnam conflict; 74 sailors who gave the ultimate sacrifice while on the station as ordered.

In the last 42 years, the government, the defense department, the Navy, and the private foundation that administers the Wall have come up with so many reasons why the names are not there on the Wall. I believe it is time for them to finally say, “Why not!”

I attended the funeral of Mrs. Eunice Sage last September. I always thought she was the most courageous woman alive every time I saw her. She lost so much, and really longed for so little: THREE NAMES ON THAT WALL! Gary, Greg, and Kelly Sage. Need I say more?

MARVIN C. MENDENHALL 15 April 1964

CS1 EARL W. MARCHBANKS 17 April 1963

I Earl W. Marchbanks was born 13 March 1934, at Columbus, Georgia. My hair is gray and my eyes are brown. In my early years we moved to St. Louis, Missouri. After graduating from Roosevelt High School, I returned to Columbus and enlisted in the U. S. Navy in November 1952. I went to boot camp at San Diego, California.

My first duty station was USS KULA GULF (CVE 108), then USS ROBERT L WILSON (DD 847), and then USS SIERRA (AD 18). On 17 April 1963, I came aboard USS FRANK E. EVANS (DD 754) where I was assigned to “S” Division as a Commissaryman. My experiences would take a very long time to tell with all the memories I have of FRANK E. EVANS. A favorite does immediately come to mind.

Doc Wilson (corpsman) and I talked a lot on the mess deck. Some of the guys kept taking pies. One night Doc said we will find out who was doing it. So ‘ole Doc laced the pies with red coloring. Needless to say, next morning Doc was very busy with the fellows who thought they were urinating blood.

While on board FRANK E. EVANS we won the award “Best Feeding Ship In The U. S. Navy,” the only ship of this size to ever reach this accomplishment. We also won “Navy Cake Bake 1964″ for originality.

My years in FRANK E. EVANS gave me good memories. I cooked lots of meals, baked lots, and most of all had very good friends.

Along the way I met Marie. We were married in 1956 and just celebrated our 50 wedding anniversary with our 3 daughters, 1 son and 14 grandchildren. I retired from the U.S. Navy a CSC.

Earl and Marie currently reside at 5171 Seminole Road, Richland, GA 31905. You can reach them at home:229-887-9893; business: 706- 682-1021 Ext 24; or cell: 706-577-9790.