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All God's Children Gotta Pee….. Even Infantrymen!
Charles G. Pefinis, WWII, 3rd Army, 87th Division,
345th Regiment, Company G

As a combat infantryman peeing took some time and doing making you rush to catch up with your friends. Those of us who were skilled at this function developed what we referred to as the “Backass Method”. Although hard to do, with a little concentration and effort and the concurrence of the guy behind you, you peed walking backwards. Most of us got quite good at doing it.

The only time peeing backward didn’t work is when you were in a truck. You couldn’t pee. You were jammed with 50 other guys. The truck would be going down the road helter skelter, bouncing up and down, hitting every pothole. You had one heck of a time just keeping your bottom on the seat if you were lucky enough to have one.

After a while when you had to pee, almost in unison, there would be a loud piss call coming from all the guys. It always amazed me. ”PISS CALL!, PISS CALL!” It seemed like it was a programmed call. The trucks would move to the side and park. Everybody would jump out, run over the side of the road and start peeing. It reminded me of a bunch of birds sitting on a telephone wire, all nicely lined up doing their thing.

One night, the trucks would not stop, now even for piss call. We didn’t know where the hell we were going but we traveled for hours. Well something had to give. One of the guys got the bright idea. He took his helmet off, relieved himself and passed it around to his neighbor. Each one made his contribution.

The helmet was passed around somewhat like one does passing a hot dog to a neighbor at a football game. The guy at the end would gingerly pour it out the back. We laughed about it but took it seriously. No one wanted to get wet by this well mixed and unidentified urine.

This would go on despite the bumps and bouncing of the truck, everyone gingerly watching the helmets so they would not fill up too much then passing them to the guys at the back.

Well, you guessed it. As ol’ Billy Bob, a friend from Georgia, carefully and gingerly received the receptacle for dispersal, the truck took one hell of a bounce. Poor Billy Bob really got pissed - and pissed on - and pissed off at our howls of laughter. He was drenched wet! We were drenched with laughter.

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