While serving as a member of the Army Rangers, he made it through the tough physical challenges to graduate from Ranger School, but broke an ankle on his first test jump. It might serve as the definition of a lucky break. While he was recuperating in the hospital, his sergeant stopped in to hector him, assuring him that he would soon be back with the rest of the men. From the window of his hospital room, he watched his platoon tromp off in the rain, laden under full packs.
No sooner were they out of sight, then he got himself up on crutches and rowed himself across the base to where tryouts were going on for a USO variety show. He couldn’t sing, and with his leg in that condition, he certainly couldn’t dance, but he had a sharp delivery and a knack for comic timing that made him a natural emcee. For the next year, he turned Europe, introducing comics and musical acts. Later in life, people would frequently compare him to Johnny Carson. He hated that.
The emcee job didn’t last, and before he got out of the Army he found himself serving with a helicopter unit of the 1st Army. By the time he returned to America, he’d taken a train through the Italian Alps and sipped espresso in the quiet dawn of a mountain village. He’d seen Paris, and Munich, and London, and even Luxemburg and Liechtenstein. He’d also spent weeks in a muddy ditch facing off with Russian troops along the pre-wall border in Berlin.
He took a troopship back to America, landed management jobs in big cities, but it was his home town where he eventually settled down, along with the prettiest girl in his high school, to make a home and raise a family.
With friends and partners, he started three stores and a restaurant, and for a time he thought these would be his legacy. But in 1971 he was asked to take the position of City Administrator. He took it, and for the next thirty five years he didn’t just work in that position, he lived it.
He learned every inch of pavement and every foot of pipe. He learned every man and woman that worked for the city, and knew their families, their accomplishments, their hopes, and their difficulties. He was absolutely determined to be fair on every issue. If he could provide a service to everyone, he did. If someone asked for a favor that couldn’t be extended to every other citizen of the town, they went away angry. Many times companies or indivuals sought to make a deal with him that would be more to his benefit than that of the city. They didn't try twice. He was as much a miser with the city’s money, as he was generous with his own. Anyone looking to slip an unnecessary item into the budget knew it wouldn’t get by unchallenged.
He oversaw the construction of new public housing, new elderly housing, the city’s first public park, first museum, a public pool, an outdoor amphitheater for plays and music. He earned a commendation from the NAACP for his work, and was commissioned a Kentucky Colonel. Twice.
He cared for the city’s infrastructure as much as he did for its more public facilities. He scrambled to see the city through water shortages and utility problems. Through growth pains, and through painful periods of economic retraction. He kept the city not only solvent, but built up its savings, even as other communities were struggling.
Above all, he was competent. If he needed to know something, he put in the time to learn it. It didn’t matter if it was the intricacies of issuing bonds, or the technical details of a water pump, he put in the work required. By the end of his term, there were not many things about running a city he did not know. He served on most every local board, and more than a few state commissions.
In 2007, he officially retired from his position, but he worked on part-time. He thought about moving away. He thought about going to Florida, and playing some golf. He thought about reviving those skills that had seen him through Europe, and looking for work on a cruise ship, spinning stories and helping to start conversations. He never got the chance to do those things.
He died yesterday, at his home in Greenville, Kentucky, the town that had been his singular dedication. He will be buried there later this week.
He was my father.
He leaves behind Betty, his wife of 54 years, Robert his brother, one son, Mark, a daughter-in-law, Sarah, and a grandson, John.
Harold Everett Sumner 1932 - 2008