This is an interesting true story.

About three years ago, a local radio station in Denver called KOA was inviting people to come on air with any strange or supernatural experiences. A man who was a Navy veteran of World War 2 told this story:

I was one of the many GIs who were sent across the Atlantic in 1943 to England, preparatory to the D-Day Invasion. We were quite frightened during this crossing. The ocean was very rough, but not rough enough to keep the U-Boat wolfpacks from picking off several troopships from our convoy. There was not much to do during the day but stand at the rail, smoking cigarettes and looking out to sea, trying to spot the conning towers of the German submarines among the long string of ships in the convoy.

At night, the lurching action of the boat made it difficult for us to sleep in our hammocks. We spent most of the night talking and playing cards. My hammock was slung by the bulkhead, and next to me was a Polish guy from Chicago named Stampowski. He was always seasick, spending most of the days outside by the rail, and his nights with a bucket close by under his bunk. On one particularly raw day we were all by the rail, braving the wind and waves that were hammering the ship, and keeping a respectful distance from Stampowski who was violently ill. He was leaning far across the rail when a 30 foot wave slammed the stern of the ship into a sharp sideways lunge. I was one of many who saw Stampowski drop into the sea, but our cries of "Man Overboard!" went unheeded, for ships in Convoy would not turn around for one man.

As I swung in my hammock that night, I'm sure I cast a glance at the empty hammock swinging next to me before drifting into sleep. It was near midnight when something awakened me, and looking over at Stampowski's hammock, I was sure that a dark shape was stretched out in it. As I squinted at the shape, I could make out a steady drip of water from somewhere near it. I lit a match and held it high, and was shocked to see Stampowski lying in his hammock, soaked with seawater. I was overjoyed at his escape, and jumped out of my hammock calling his name. As my feet hit the deck, I was shocked to find myself standing in a pool of seawater perhaps 2 inches deep, that ebbed and surged across the deck with the ship's motion. When I looked up again, the hammock was empty.

This was the Soldier's story, but the capper came about an hour afterwards when another fellow called the radio station with this tale:

I heard with interest the story of Private Stampowski, and was immediately struck by the name . I too was in that convoy, near the end of that long string of ships, on that night in 1943. It was near midnight when a sharp explosion in the darkness indicated one of our ships had been attacked and perhaps sunk ahead of us. We had nearly given up looking for any survivors, supposing that the ship had either gone down with all hands or had suffered only minor damage, when the searchlights revealed a man floating in the sea. He was taken aboard about midnight. His name was Edward Stampowski.

LEJ