Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Your family's military history..pics welcomed

One of my great-great-great grandfathers served in the Union Army during the Civil War. He was from Illinois at the time, I believe. He never made it home and is buried somewhere in Tennessee. I'm sure other ancestors fought on both sides, but digging up the history on a good deal of my family history has proven to be fruitless. I'm sure there were some who fought in the Revolutionary War too. There is some sketchy evidence on one from South Carolina.

I considered by step-father to be my dad. He served in the USN during the mid-50s, and not long before he passed he told me about submarine service in those days. He was crew on the destroyer Hubbard (DD 748) for a time, and the submarine Pomodon (SS 486) also. While on the Pomodon, they would sneak into the harbor at Vladivostok before first light and sit on the bottom collecting intelligence. After dark they'd sneak back out to sea to snorkel and recharge the batteries, then do it all again the next day. They did this for several months.



When I was in the Navy , my task was opposite. I was in a VP patrol squadron, lending a hand in antisubmarine warfare. So my dad was in subs as the Cold War was beginning, and I was helping to hunt subs towards the end. I never heard a shot fire in anger and as far as I know my dad didn't either.

Interestingly enough, after he and my mom divorced in 1979 he married a woman who we had all known for years, and she had been a POW in the Philippines throughout WWII. Her parents were missionaries and were caught up in it all and were participants in the Bataan Death March. They were imprisoned in the Philippines until McArthur returned, and her father died there, a victim of appendicitis. She told me a few stories...how they were paraded before the camp commandant each day and had to say "O-hy-oh," which meant good morning or some such. After she and her mother were liberated and returned to the states it took her years to lose the habit of picking up her plate and licking it clean after a meal. I urged her to write her memoirs for posterity, but she never did...and I suspect it was because she didn't want to relive it all.

Below is a photo of William G. Dunaway:



Bill Dunaway was a 2nd or 3rd cousin of mine, but I always called him "Uncle Bill." Bill was born to blind parents in Dallas around 1930 or so, and was too much a handful for them. At the age of 16 or thereabouts, he was caught driving a stolen car (they called his deed "joyriding" in those days) and the judge ordered that he vacate Dallas County forever or go to jail. My mom's father went to Dallas, took custody of him, and brought him back to El Paso. He was noted to be one tough SOB...he was known to go out into the sandhills and run a jackrabbit down and catch it. He once brought a jackrabbit home to my grandparents' house, and not knowing what to do with it, put it in my grandfather's closet. The jackrabbit chewed up a brand new suit my garndfather had bought. Anyway, Bill ended up joining the USMC after finding a little more trouble in El Paso, and had to do so to please yet another judge. Bill ended up in Korea, where he won the Silver Star.

William G Dunaway

Bill lived out his life in Southern California and loved the outdoors. Among other pursuits, he was a bowhunter. In the Fall of 1999 he trekked out to a favorite hunting spot and never returned. His son, my cousin, found him dead. He had fallen from a tree stand and injured himself and bled out. Uncle Bill was one of a kind, and I always looked up to him. Miss that guy.

In more recent times, I have a nephew who joined the Army and became a tanker. On his first tour in Iraq in 2006, he volunteered to stand in for a mission with another unit because someone was incapacitated in some way. He was in a tank, and the tank commander asked him to reload the .50-cal. In order to do this, the main gun of the tank had to be raised so the the breech would be low enough in the turret to gain access to the .50-cal's breech. The tank commander raised the gun, but mistakenly lowered it again while my nephew was still in the turret. The breech of the main gun came up under his chin and pinned his head between it and the roof of the turret, basically crushing his head. My nephew ended up with his jaw broken into I-don't-know-how-many pieces, and some skull fractures were involved also. Vision in one eye was lost. He eventually ended up in Walter Reid and underwent many surgeries, after which the Army intended to discharge him. He fought the discharge, and with the help of his chain of command was able to remain in the ranks as long as he chose to stay (with optional full retirement anytime he elected). He served two more tours in Iraq. He did retire about six years ago and is doing well. He considers me to be his mentor and seems to think I could kick his ass in a heartbeat...little does he know, I would never try it, nephew or not.

I got a little history to be proud of...but much more to be grateful for.