Jack Duncan
Category: Military

I was either about to graduate - or maybe I was waiting to ship out - from the Motor Torpedo Boats Squadrons Training Center in Melville, R.I. when for reasons long forgotten, I decided to go visit my ex-brother-in-law down in Brooklyn. This was in 1943. He was in the twilight years of a long career in professional baseball. You may have heard of Frenchy Bordagaray.

Frenchy was playing for the Dodgers in a home game at Ebbets Field and one of the skippers of a new PT boat said I could ride down with them to the Brooklyn Navy yard as they headed for the South Pacific.

As the boat was in the East River approaching Brooklyn, someone told me to take the wheel. Could a teenaged torpedoman third class resist? Did I feel proud driving that "80-feet of fighting fury" with all the girls lined up on the banks waving at the crew lined up at the rail?

But I had to steer around all the flotsam and jetsam in the water so I couldn't look at the girls - I'd been snookered!

We docked and I went over to Ebbets Field to meet Frenchy, who escorted me into the club house and then let me watch the game from the dugout. In the stands right above the dugout was a guy to whom Frenchy introduced me. He was the "Big Gun." Babe Ruth himself!

So, when I returned to Melville by train, do you think the guys believed me?

Jack Duncan
Category: Military Service

This is a tale from Stirling Island in what is now Papua New Guinea. Food was scarce and monotonous as our little, green "plywood" warships (overgrown speedboats) tied up to the trees in the inlet. We were to rest there, rearm and refuel before going out to beard the Japanese in their own lairs. The trees provided cover from the constant air raids.

We were all in danger of contracting scurvy with the shortage of nourishing food, so the cook decided to build us a stew. We had a couple of .22 rifles, and cockatoos lived in the trees we were hiding under. "Parrot stew" it would be then, so a couple of us begin "harvesting" the birds. We added withered veggies begged from a nearby seaplane tender and we kids had a feast. The beautiful birds filled our empty bellies and we got a respite from "corned willy," "meat and vegetable stew ration" and a horrible-tasting substitute for Vienna sausage.

Later, our diet became largely coconut. Ripe coconut; green coconut; overripe coconuts. We didn't know that shark was delicious and even octopus tastes great. We thought most of the ocean's denizens were poisonous! The Navy always provided canned grapefruit juice we were forced to drink to prevent scurvy. If they could get that vile stuff to us, why didn't we get better food?

To this day, I eat no grapefruit or coconut. Now, I haven't tried parrot stew of late.

Victoria
Fort Collins, CO
Category: Military Service

Dad turned 18 in 1942. He volunteered for the U.S. Air Force and learned to fly B-17 bombers. On his 19th birthday he landed in Africa on his way to Italy to fly combat missions over Germany.

At first, combat pilots were required to fly 25 missions. The probability of surviving 25 missions was less than 50% because the planes had to dodge so much anti-aircraft fire. On their way back to base after completing their 25th mission, they cheered. Then they were told the limit had been raised to 35 missions.

On their 34th mission they were shot down in Austria. An 88mm shell exploded close to the cockpit and pieces of the shell went into Dad's legs. Everyone bailed out of the fiery wreckage. As the pilot, Dad steadied the plane while the others jumped. Dad managed to pull his rip cord just before he blacked out from pain. He landed in a field. He was immediately captured because the field was part of a farm worked by prisoners of war and surrounded by Nazi guards. While on crutches he was sent to a different camp. On the way there the train carrying him was bombed by his own buddies who thought it was a Nazi supply train. Everyone had to get out of the train and into a ditch.

Dad spent a little over 60 days as a POW before being liberated by Patton's army. He had lost more than thirty pounds. His telegram to his parents—who didn't know if he was alive or dead—said: COMING HOME FOR STRAWBERRY PIE.

Colonel Clyde Myers
Fort Collins, CO
Category: Military

I volunteered in 1941 at the age of 23 for duty for one year, but after Pearl Harbor all military personnel were committed indefinitely. My first assignment was in combat intelligence, but later I was transferred to the signal corp in Fort Monmouth, N.J.

After graduating as a second lieutenant, I was assigned to a "Signal Pigeon Company" that was responsible for training homing pigeons to fly messages. Our "Signal Pigeon Company" travelled by ship from California to Calcutta, India, a trip through the South Pacific to avoid Japanese submarines.

From Calcutta, our company moved to Burma where our pigeons were used to fly messages pertaining to the war against Japan. The pigeons were carried to the front lines then released with messages to fly back to their lofts at our encampment.

Upon departing from Burma, we left many of the pigeons with missionaries who used them to carry messages. In certain areas, it was their only form of communication.

When I returned to the United States, I left the service and worked for Swift and Company, a hatchery in Sedalia, Missouri. I was shortly recalled to active duty. After serving several more years, I was separated from the service to work for Sears, Roebuck and Company, only to be recalled again in the early 1950s.

By the time I retired from the service, I had spent 29 years on active duty and had been promoted to a colonel.