The Flag Makers
Susumu Toyoda is a retired major living in Carlsbad, Calif., with his wife, Hiroye, and a poodle of confused heritage named Sammy. Toyoda is now content to leave legendary flag making to Betsy Ross.

Following the 37th Infantry Division's virtual annihilation of the Japanese 6th Division (known for its Rape of Nanking) during the March–April 1944 campaign, the 173rd Language Detachment had time to take a breather.

Our time mostly was spent translating captured documents, and one day we were asked to translate some crude Japanese flags. Investigation revealed they were made from Army-issue handkerchiefs with ideographs ostensibly copied from enemy ammunition boxes. Apparently they were made by enterprising gis who were selling them to other gis as flags taken in battle. Seeing these poorly made flags gave us the idea to make more realistic copies of the rising sun emblem. And so the spurious flag makers were born.

Made privy to our plan and promised two flags for their cooperation, the parachute riggers at the Piva bomber and fighter strips gave us unusable parachutes. We took the silk parachutes to the quartermaster unit and had them cut to a certain size and the borders hemmed. Our next stop was the signal corps, where we acquired bright red ink and brushes.

We borrowed our commander's wash pan; its circumference fit the round red field of the Japanese flags. Placing a silk panel on a table and the wash pan on its center, we melted a candle around the rim of the pan. After the wax hardened, we carefully lifted the pan out, then painted the center with red ink. The wax prevented the ink from running out of the circle. After the ink dried, the wax was washed off with white gasoline.

We used India ink with brush to write the Japanese words "Pray for eternal success in battle" and the fictitious names of the recipient of the flag and the well-wishers who had presented the bearer the flag. We then aged the counterfeit flags by using them to towel off our sweat and rubbing them in the sand. When we were done, they looked more authentic than the real Japanese flags.

We went to the quartermaster and traded flags for captured Japanese rice and canned goods, to the Seabees for ice cream, and to the engineers for lumber, a hand pump, and pipes to build a new shower and flooring for our tents.

We were en-joying the payoff from our "authentic" flags when one day a sailor from one of the ships anchored in the Empress Augusta Bay entered our language tent and asked if we could translate the inscriptions on the Japanese flag he had bought that day. I immediately recognized the flag as one of the bogus ones we had made. When asked how much he had paid for it, he told us the price was $150. Our fantasies soared as we envisioned the potential financial windfall from our project.

Unfortunately, the detachment commander, who had witnessed this exchange, did not share our enthusiasm for entrepreneurship. He de-clared the short-lived spurious flag makers out of business.

How many of our flags are still being passed off as authentic war souvenirs is hard to judge. All I know is that some detachment commanders have no sense of humor.