My late father spend 1942-1945 in the US Navy. He was an aviation mechanic-his job was fixing and rebuilding fighter engines. For most of the time, he was on the island of Espiritu Santo (one of the New Hebrides archipelago). I was reading his diary last night, and came across an interesting story: his boss, a bored CPO came up with a way to have some fun. The native people on the island kept dogs-skinny mangy but friendly-and nlots of them. The CPO got hold of some stencils, and painted identifying numerals on the sides of the dogs-every dog had a number. Anybody ever hear of such a story? Sounds like a what a bored young man might do!
What a rollicking sense of fun.
Regards,
Shodan
He first tried it with sheep, but kept falling asleep.
That’s a great story!
The one my dad told me:
He joined the Navy in July of 1945, and halfway into their bootcamp, the drill instructor came out while they were marching in a big circle and announced, “GENTLEMEN! JAPAN HAS SURRENDERED!” and all the men in his unit cheered and jumped up and down. Then the drill instructor yelled, “AND YOU DIDN’T HELP! TWO MORE HOURS OF MARCHING!”
My father was in the Navy in the Pacific (Iwo Jima and Okinawa). He said some of his shipmates went a little looney, which he called “Going Asiatic.” One example he gave was a guy who got boat propellers tattooed on his butt.
I urge everyone with living relatives who are WWII veterans to take part in the Library of Congress Veterans History Project! I did the project with my grandpa, who died last month, and now not only does the family have a lovely oral history of his time in the war but so does the Library of Congress!
The OP’s story is a bit odd, but this one is fantastic.
My dad recalled from the 1950’s one of the best motivational posters I’d heard of, from the office door of an Air Force mechanic chief:
"All personnel will shower before reporting for duty
- if I have to kiss your ass to get you to do your job, I want it to be clean"
The Senior Prank at my son’s high school a few years back was similar.
They swiped 3 goats from a farm down the road, painted 1, 2, and 4 on them, and let them go in the school.
Good times.
My dad spent “The War” flying between tiny little pacific islands and atolls.
He’d ask me and my friends if we wanted to see his war injury. We’d say yeah, and he’d pretend to be pulling down his pants.
And then he’d tell us how lucky he was that he got to lounge around and the only injury he got was that his butt got sunburned.
My dad was an airplane mechanic with the Army Air Force in the South Pacific.
He came from a pie-loving family. I know everybody loves pie but this family even ate it for breakfast.
In the service he missed his pie mightily.
While in New Guinea he noticed that the local natives would come into their base and dig in the garbage looking for things to eat and it hurt him to see that.
So one day the Red Cross showed up with pie! There was enough for one piece per person and Dad’s conscience bothered him about their garbage-scavenging guests enough that he decided to wrap the pie and place it on top in the dumpster.
Then he waited and watched. Eventually a man came and opened the dumpster. Dad waited while the man unwrapped and sniffed the pie. He examined it, appeared to think for a moment and then threw it back into the garbage unwrapped.
Dad never got over that. How could anyone throw pie away?
Dad was in the South Pacific and his ship got hit by a Kamikaze. Unhurt, he braved the fires looking for people who needed help. He found an officer’s sidearm instead, picked it up, and was about to leave with it when he ran into an officer! When asked what he was doing there, Dad said he was looking for survivors and handed over the pistol.
Dad recounted this in a veteran’s magazine in '91 or so, which garnered a reply from that very officer. The sidearm was his and he was very glad that it didn’t go missing!
Although he spent the war on various ships, my dad’s only injury was a broken wrist. That happened while he was on shore leave at a Honolulu skating rink.
My grandfather’s war injury was the clap. He got a little senile at the end and told us things you really don’t want to hear about your grandparents.
My office mate is a reservist, I told him this one after he asked why I was cracking up.
Dad was a bombardier in a B-17 in the 8th Air Force. He’d say he was the most important person on the entire plane, because the whole purpose of the thing was to get HIM to a certain point over Germany.
Anyway, he said there was an Operations Officer they called “Major Gladly” who was a non-aviator or at least was grounded. Whenever challenged about the shitstorm missions he was briefing them on, he’d always say “I’d gladly go with you, but…” During pre-mission briefings, Major Gladly would describe German AAA as light, medium, or heavy flak. Sooner or later, someone would pipe up and ask “What the Hell is light flak?”