Editor’s Note: Among my father’s many accomplishments — including medals for valor on Bataan, surviving Japanese prison camp, and tenure as a college professor — he is also the only person known to have shot one of the prized hunting dogs belonging to Yugoslav dictator Josip Broz Tito and live to tell the tale. Here is that story, in his own words:
SITUATION A few years after the end of WW II the United States Government was still giving all kinds of aid, including military, to friendly foreign countries.
YUGOSLAVIA Yugoslavia was accepted as a friendly nation, even though Marshal Tito was still very much a communist dictator. We started providing military equipment and training to Yugoslavia, and an American Military Assistance Staff was organized as an adjunct to the US Embassy in the capital city of Belgrade. I was a member of this staff. We arrived there in January 1952.
STAFF Our staff was composed of a major general* and 14 other officers ranking from captain to colonel, with a sufficient number of enlisted men for clerical duties. The officers were on diplomatic status and carried diplomatic passports.
THE HUNT
One Thursday morning, after we had been there well over a year, the general called all officers into his office to tell us that he had received an invitation. When no one volunteered, and following much discussion, he selected me to go in his place. In due course, I was issued a personal invite:
Since I had no gun, he loaned me his, a single-shot, 12 gauge double-barrel shotgun, and furnished the shells, number 6 shot (whatever that means).**
So I went. A lieutenant colonel doesn’t refuse a request from his commanding general.
SATURDAY MORNING We, about 23 hunters of varying proficiencies, departed Belgrade and drove about 120 miles out into the boondocks. We were to kill fox, rabbit, pheasant, and quail. It was to be an European style hunt, with the locals driving the game towards us in the morning and dogs doing the honors in the afternoon.
After arriving out in the country near a large forest, we were each introduced to our local assistant and given a number of rules which included:
- Stay in your stand. Your local assistant will remain out of sight during the shooting, but will come immediately when called.
- We are not to leave our stand without calling the assistant.
- Other assistants will make noises on the other side of the forest and drive the game toward us.
- Shoot only into the forest.
- Do not go into the forest or retrieve or touch any game; the assistant takes care of these duties.
- Wait for the sound of a distant horn before starting the shoot.
- And discontinue the hunt at the second sound of the horn.
During this first stand, about two hours, I shot a large gray fox before I heard the second horn. My assistant joined me as we went to another stand. While there, I shot a rabbit. About eleven o’clock we heard the horn and broke for an excellent picnic lunch.
After lunch we got the word confirming that the locals would no longer be driving the game. Instead, a number of hunting dogs would be doing the driving. Within the hour, I heard considerable shooting and the assistants yelling, “Pheasants! Pheasants!” Soon, one pheasant is flying by in front of me. I shoot and down he goes. About an hour or so later, I saw a rabbit about the size and color of the one I shot this morning. It stopped behind some bushes near enough for me to get a shot. Since I cannot see him that clearly, I stand very still and wait. Almost immediately, he hops to the next bush. I estimate the location of his head and fire. Sure enough, I have my second rabbit.
THE END It is nearing late afternoon when the horn sounds the signal to unload the guns and follow your assistant. Just back of my stand, laid out in the order of their demise, were my old gray fox, a rabbit, the pheasant, and my last: A dead dog! One of Tito’s prized hunting dogs!!! For a moment, my blood ran cold. I had caused a diplomatic incident and would be broken in rank and sent home in disgrace.
But my assistant slapped me on the back and said, “Mighty Hunter, do not worry. The Marshal has many dogs” and was joined by raucous laughter all around.
*I believe this was MG John Harmony
**My father was raised in rural Arkansas and certainly knew how to hunt. However, I expect nearly all of this was with a rifle.
Slightly East of New 