What I understand about this object is this:

My great-grandfather, George Dannecker, was randomly part of a group of young men that became the first Navy SEALs. They weren’t called Navy SEALs yet, but they were all young, impressionable, and frankly disposable. They became the men who dove underwater to deconstruct bombs before they could explode. They were called the UDT, “underwater demolition team,” later the SEALs. Their training took place in Hawaii and then they were on boats, I’m not sure exactly where. 

Sticking a bunch of young men on a boat in the middle of the ocean ensures one thing: tomfoolery. George had actually lied to join the navy, so he was significantly younger than the other men, standing at a cool seventeen years. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty year old boys will always find a way to play games. 

And so they played. The game of choice turned out to be ping pong. My great-grandfather turned out to be pretty good at it. He was good enough, in fact, to be crowned a “Ping Pong Doubles Champion” on October 23rd, 1944. Lucky for me and my research, this date is inscribed right on the trophy, which is shaped like a ping pong racket. His name is also inscribed in the metal, proving the original ownership. 

The trophy is made of scrap metal from shell casings. 533, the numbers inscribed front and center on the trophy, indicates either the number of his ship or his unit. “CB,” which is inscribed above the numbers, or “seabees,” stands for construction battalion. “MU,” which sits below the numbers, is for “munitions unit.” 

When I asked my father, the current owner of the trophy, what “munitions unit” meant, he texted back, simply, “go boom.”

I had the great fortune of knowing George for a lot of my life before he passed away in 2019. It took him a long time to be able to talk about his time in World War Two. In fact, he didn’t talk much about it at all. My cousins and I interviewed him for middle school projects, but that was about it. This trophy is one of the only tangible pieces of evidence I have seen that he was truly there, young, and maybe even having fun at some points. 

This trophy made it home from the war with him, which meant it eventually fell into the possession of his daughter, my Grammy. It’s been in my Dad’s office in my house for as long as I can remember. He said he took it from his mom’s house when he moved out, which would have been upwards of twenty-five years ago. 

The trophy itself is in fine shape. The black metal of the handle has rubbed off to reveal more silver, and I’m sure it has never seen a duster or any sort of cleaning supplies, but it has a sort of indestructible air to it. I picked it up and spun it in my hands long before I truly understood what it was or what an incredible history it has behind it. 

My Dad admired my great-grandfather in a way that I always noticed. George became a firefighter when he returned from war and started a family. My Dad is a retired fire chief. George tied flies and fly-fished his worries away. My Dad retreats to rivers and keeps George’s jars of rabbit hair and twine to do the same. As you can see in the picture, the trophy lives in my Dad’s home office, where he spends most of his days. He keeps it near him. 

The trophy does a lot of storytelling on its own, which is convenient for me, the researcher, but I’m positive there’s more to be uncovered. It’s touchy to think about telling too much of a story that George wasn’t telling himself, but something about the trophy feels lighter. It’s a 79 year old bragging right. Don’t worry, George, I’m showing everyone how good you were at doubles ping pong.