Crossing the Equator.
Three days away from the equator and then the ship’s captain and those men who had crossed the equator before, began to plan the festivities of the crossing. All who had crossed the equator were called Shellbacks, All who had not crossed the equator were referred to as dirty, slimy, filthy, Pollywogs. All Shellbacks had to show proof of their having crossed before, and all had a card of the Ancient Order of the Deep. Well, as I said, they planned the festivities and this is the result. Several of us were dress in rubber diver suites, completely zippered and buttoned, and we were made (by means of paddle suggestion) to climb the ladder up to the very top little bridge deck way the hell up in the air, and were given spy-glasses (two rolls of toilet tissue fastened together) with which we scanned the horizon for a sign from Davy Jones as to when the Equator would appear in all its glory and announce the arrival of King Neptune aboard the ship. Needless to say it was a warm job in that equatorial heat and out in the sun all buttoned up in rubber suits, I bet I lost 10 pounds that first afternoon. Well, it was worked like that by shifts for two days, about every ten minutes or so a Shell back would approach from the rear (usually a salty little pfc or corporal on his way back to combat for the second or third time) and question you about some ridiculous matter that would have no answer and as a result he would then paddle the devil out of you, and of course the rubber suit accentuated the sting of the paddle. Other hazing crews of Shellbacks were busy elsewhere, requiring anyone of any Rank to do anything he asked. You could do nothing to please them of course and all were paddled thoroughly during that three days session. The favorite request of the Shellbacks was that you Salaam and say Praise Allah, hurrah for the wonderful Shellbacks, and down with the dirty, slimy, filthy, Pollywogs. On each salaam as you bent forward on your knees they would timely administer a paddle to your fanny. Now these were not schoolgirls wielding the paddle but rollicking adult husky Marines and their heart was in their work, especially when the victim happened to be an officer and the Shellback on enlisted man, boy oh boy, their revenge must have been sweet and complete. Well, this went on for the entire three days, for the most part during our waking hours but it did happen sometime that you were hauled out of the sack and at irregular hours. At last the day came when the lookout announced that Davy Jones had signaled him that the Royal Party and His Royal Highness King Neptune (Neptunis Rex) would board the ship at high noon the next day and for all hands to be ready to receive him. Well the skipper of the ship ordered the Jolly Roger hoisted (the Pirate Flag of skull and crossbones). All Pollywogs were marked with an X on their forehead with gentian violet (a blue medicinal potion which is practically indelible), of course sometimes the brush slipped and one’s entire face got it. Well, at exactly noon the next day the Royal Party came aboard and there were these present (appropriately accorded in regular raiment, carried aboard nearly all ships for just this purpose) King Neptune, beard and all. The Royal Baby (a huge 250 pound Marine with head shaved and all rouged and lip-sticked) the Royal Barber, the Royal Doctors, and of course Davy Jones who dressed as a pirate somewhat like John Silver patch over eye etc. These men were well made-up and looked every bit the part with the exception of the gargantuan Royal Baby. Well the party started by all of us being lined up and awaiting the Royal Barber, while we waited we were one by one bathed with a sea hose which threw a stream of salt water from the sea about 4 inches thick and in order to make the job thorough we were required to back into it on our hands and knees, we were not clothed except for skivvies, and believe me the force of that hose was about like an enema on a large scale. Well after backing into the hose for a distance of about 10 feet we were somewhat surprised to find another hose of the same type playing on our faces, making breathing somewhat of an amphibious or something of operation as the water sometimes seemed to contain some bilge water besides the sea-water, so that initial phase was over we stood back and reveled in the misery of those behind us. Suddenly we were marched to the Barber, who proceeded to cut a runway down the center of our beautiful scalp, and I do mean scalp, he took several nicks out of mine besides the hair. The hair clippings fell into a barrel in which had been put some form of lard and shampoo. So after partially scalping us he proceeded to give us a shampoo, but he must have had poor vision because we didn’t get a shampoo but did get our eyes and mouth full of hair and shampoo and lard. Still sputtering we were taken before King Neptune’s elaborate throne where we were required to salaam many times to the rhythmic beat of the paddle, and then we moved over to worship the Royal Baby. This was the climax of the whole affair, the bouncing Royal Baby presented not her face to be kissed but her buttocks, which were diapered and over all about one inch of mustard was smeared. Well everyone had a natural hesitancy about sticking his face into a smear like that which to all appearances might well be imagined something entirely more unsavory than mustard. The court attendants here took the situation in hand (our heads) and with a decided push accomplished the fact. Thence we were placed upon the Royal Surgeon’s operating table and were asked how much we weighed. Of course everyone weighs one hundred and some pounds, and since nearly all say a hundred fifty six, etc they naturally form the Hun syllable with a kind of openmouthed grunt and at that precise moment the Royal Surgeon (large syringe of foul tasting alum-ish fluid in hand) squirts your mouth full and oral cavity being in such a wide-open state the stuff invariably caused much spewing and sputtering and in some cases violent nausea with dismaying results. After that none of us cared much what happened and not much more was possible, it didn’t seem. However it was then necessary for us to drink deep of the deep and a bucket was lowered over the side and some nice salt water was pulled aboard and we all were made to drink. Ugh. Well after several other sessions it seemed we were about to become Shellbacks, but no. Blindfolded and roped hand and foot we were dunked over the side, just a quick wetting for some, it wasn’t possible to do a thorough job on so many, thank goodness, then we were asked what the definition of a Shellback was: and then the trouble began. It seems that Pollywogs are allowed to mutiny if they do it in an orderly manner, and once of the larger and heftier members decided that this was the psychological moment. It was a dismal failure, as the Shellbacks anticipated such an attempt and was well prepared with hoses; it resulted in a washout for us.
lol! That sounds like what they call hazing now. 
Hugs,
Brooke
God bless those heroes who suffered and died, for plain folks, like you and me.
War is a crime. Ask the infantry and ask the dead.
Army Air Corps, 3 Things Not To Do
I had my pilot’s license before I enlisted in 1943 and found 3 things not to do.
1. On take off, do not drop the flaps and think your instructor did not see it.
2. Do not put your instructor's flight suit on, take his car key's, drive to the post office and mail a Christmas package for his wife to his mother-in-law.
3. On landing do not shut your radio off, do not watch the tower, do not land on the black top runway when they want you to land on cement runway.
Art, a long, long ago air man
I have a friend who received medal from Westmoreland in Korean War. He also served in WW 2. He is Ray Gonzales G companyof 187th Airborne Regimental
Combat Team. Ray does not have a computer so if any one wants to send me a e-mail I will see that Ray gets it.
Art <papa@twmi.rr.com>
That is a moving tribute to your brother. What an amazing amount of work that has went into this site.
He was so young and handsome.
Hugs,
Brooke
God bless those heroes who suffered and died, for plain folks, like you and me.
War is a crime. Ask the infantry and ask the dead.
I don't know if this is true but it is said to be. A 4-engine bomber base at Sebring Florida men were sitting around talking, when the radio started receiving a call saying "coming in on one engine, coming in on one engine". The field got ready for the plane, soon in comes a plane -- one engine. It was a fighter – a one-engine plane. Now if this were true, the commandant of the field would have to wait until the 1-engine plane pilot got out and took his flight clothes off and make sure the pilot did not out-rank him. We had some high-ranking pilots in WW2
Hemorroids in WW2
One week in boot camp at Miami Beach,Florida. I had small pimple on butt,went to sick call and 1st Lt. Doctor said we can take that out here. . Luckly a Capt. Standing there said NO that for the hospital. In hospital Dr. Sikes did the operation and the ward boy told me not to sh_t until he came back. Evedentally he was following orders or he for-got me. A week later he came by and asked how I was doing. I said I have not sh_t in a week. He ran down to the pharmacy and came back with a small black pill and had me swallow it. The pill worked, it whent down,, got size of a water mellon and exploded. What a relief
Art
lol!! A week?!
Hugs, Brooke
God bless those heroes who suffered and died, for plain folks, like you and me.
War is a crime. Ask the infantry and ask the dead.
The b-24 tail gunner "Bill" from "Kellogs all-brand " died last month.. I worked with him for 40 years and never seen him mad at any-one. He enjoyed being the star of a joke. We use to square dance and one time I was behind him and his wife. While dancing the caller said alamone left and I whispered in his ear Alamone RIGHT. The whole square dancer's went left but Bill went Right. So there he was at the other end of the dance floor all by himself. Bill laughed. I have a million of them like playing checkers--WEELL thats for another day
cadetat6
Sorry to hear that. 
Hugs,
Brooke
God bless those heroes who suffered and died, for plain folks, like you and me.
War is a crime. Ask the infantry and ask the dead.
Marion,
Did you ever look intoo 32 div ?
", my "pawpaw" was in 32nd Engineer Corp., and 306 Trucking Company.
Hugs,
Brooke
papa
Chucktoooo,
He was hitting the Pepsi bottle again!!
He told me he saw Santa riding a motor-cycle!!!Witch one
Harley
http://www.patriotfiles.com/hs.pps
Art
In God We Trust
In God We Trust
In God We Trust
In God We Trust
In God We Trust
In God We Trust
Hey Papa. there's a story about a certain HOUSE your squad was to patrol, or was it to PROTECT. Refresh my memory if you can.
