Top Photo: Four US Marines carry an injured compatriot on a stretcher during the Guadalcanal Campaign. Gift in Memory of Sgt. Lyle E. Eberspecher, 2013.495.042

For the US 1st Marine Division, nights on Guadalcanal were never quiet. In the darkness, the sounds of ocean surf and jungle rustling blended with the constant thump of artillery and the distant hammering of naval guns. Marines huddled in their foxholes, swatting insects, nursing festering wounds, and trying to sleep through oppressive humidity and gnawing hunger while malaria and dysentery tore through the ranks.  

The horrors of Guadalcanal defied easy explanation. Marines tried anyway. They called it the “green hell,” though even that fell short. So, one miserable night on that crocodile-infested island, a few officers decided the division deserved a medal—not for heroism in the traditional sense, but simply for surviving that dreadful place. 

What they came up with was an irreverent decoration absolutely unfit for a general’s podium: a wide-eyed Marine frantically catching a hot potato on one side, and the rear end of a cow primed to unload into a spinning electric fan on the other. Crude? Perhaps. But the so-called “George Medal” was more than a gag. It is emblematic of something deeper. 

Only a few hundred of these medals were struck during the war. Today, The National WWII Museum holds just one example, a rare piece of material culture that illustrates how Marines endured one of the Pacific war’s most brutal campaigns through gallows humor born of shared suffering.

Both unofficial and sardonic, the George Medal does not appear on any personnel file or dress uniform, and you won’t find it listed in the Navy and Marine Corps Awards Manual. But for the Marines who survived the inferno of Guadalcanal between August and December 1942, it meant more than most official decorations ever could. 

Welcome to the Solomons

Guadalcanal wasn’t supposed to be a Marine Corps proving ground. Before 1942, few Americans had even heard of it. But that changed in July when Japanese forces began constructing an airfield there to guard their major naval base at Rabaul and threaten Allied supply lines to Australia. 

In response, the 1st Marine Division launched the first major American ground offensive of World War II. On August 7, 1942, troops stormed ashore at Guadalcanal, Tulagi, and other nearby islands in the remote Solomon chain. At first, the landings met relatively light resistance, and within two weeks, Marines had seized the unfinished airstrip (soon named Henderson Field in honor of a Marine aviator killed at the Battle of Midway in June 1942).  

Members of the 1st Marine Division landing on Guadalcanal in 1942. Gift of John Buttone Jr., 2002.069.156

But the quick victory proved short-lived. Japanese counterattacks came with fanatical persistence, and the Marines faced relentless naval bombardment, air raids, and night assaults through dense jungle vegetation. Supply lines faltered when the Navy was forced to withdraw just three days after the landing, leaving rations scarce and ammunition precious. For nearly half a year, the men rested their heads at night to a chorus of gunfire, buzzing insects, and the groans of the sick. Malarial fever and dysentery thinned the ranks as surely as enemy bullets and artillery, making survival itself a daily battle. 

George Medal Lore

One night, several officers gathered to commiserate and strategize. Among them was then-Lieutenant Colonel Merrill B. Twining, who half-jokingly proposed that the troops deserved some kind of award for enduring this hellish ordeal. No existing medal would do, so they’d need to invent their own. 

The jest quickly snowballed. The group roped in Captain Donald Dickson, an adjutant of the 5th Marines and later a well-known illustrator for Leatherneck magazine, to sketch up the design. They also recruited Australian Coastwatcher Martin Clemens to help with the Latin motto. 

Clemens settled on Faciat Georgius, a loose rendering of “Let George Do It,” a common expression of the era meaning to dump an undesirable task on someone else. The 1st Marine Division had been the Corps’ designated “George” since its earliest days at New River, North Carolina, always saddled with assignments nobody else wanted. By Guadalcanal, every Marine in the division was “George.” 

The design drips with sarcasm. On the obverse, an outstretched hand drops a hot potato to a desperate Marine below. On early castings, the sleeve bore Navy vice admiral stripes and a star, a little jab at the Navy for its departure from the island on D+3. A Saguaro cactus, out of place on Guadalcanal, nodded to the island’s codename (Cactus).   

The front and back of the unofficial “George Medal,” created by the 1st Marine Division to commemorate the brutal campaign on Guadalcanal. Anonymous Donation, 2022.271.001

The reverse needed little discussion. One of the most common sayings on Guadalcanal was that “s*** hit the fan,” and the image they settled on left little room for ambiguity. Beneath runs the final punchline: “In fond remembrance of the happy days spent from Aug. 7th, 1942, to Jan. 5th, 1943 – U.S.M.C.”

Production and Distribution

The George Medal began circulating shortly after the campaign concluded in early 1943. For years, the origin of the physical medals remained uncertain. Even Twining admitted he never knew who made them. 

It was not until 1974 that Vernon C. Stimpel, who served as a Corporal in the Division Intelligence Section, claimed responsibility. In a letter written to the 1st Marine Division Association, he clarified that he took a copy of the original sketch to a small engraving shop off Little Collins Street in Melbourne, Australia, where they created the original dies.

And though it was unofficial, the medal was not treated like a joke. On April 15, 1943, the Division Intelligence Section issued an official circular outlining eligibility, production, and distribution.  

To qualify, a Marine had to have served on Guadalcanal, Tulagi, or adjacent islands “during the heroic period which dates from the landing attacks … until the time of the Division’s relief.” Marines evacuated due to wounds or illness still qualified, as did reinforcements from the 7th Marines and US Army’s 164th Infantry who “did their share in the dark days.” Brief visitors and latecomers did not. 

Each medal came with a certificate, and the process to obtain one was remarkably bureaucratic. It required the endorsement of a witness in the recipient’s unit who could personally verify that the Marine had, in the certificate’s blunt words, truly been there “when the s*** hit the fan.” Also, a committee planned to review each submission, “ensuring that none receive the medal who do not rate it.”  

Each George Medal came with an official certificate. This one has been redacted to remove the recipient’s name and unit information. Anonymous Donation. 

Legends quickly surrounded the medal. One claimed that authentic ribbons had to be cut from herringbone twill uniforms washed in the Lunga River on Guadalcanal—a joke only veterans of the campaign would appreciate. 
The first George Medal and certificate, it is worth noting, went to none other than General Alexander Vandegrift, commanding officer of the 1st Marine Division.

More Than a Joke

The George Medal fits into a long tradition of unofficial military humor, something that historian Paul Fussell calls the troops’ “counter language.” In contrast to the high-minded rhetoric of generals and presidents, these kinds of jokes and mementos offered soldiers a way to reclaim agency and interpret the horrors they experienced. 

A column of US Marines on Guadalcanal resting during a march to higher ground. Gift in Memory of Sgt. Lyle E. Eberspecher, 2013.495.056

Guadalcanal became central to the 1st Marine Division’s identity. Every shoulder sleeve patch worn thereafter bore the island’s name. In the veterans’ reunions and memoirs, Guadalcanal loomed large. And so did the George Medal. It became a badge of solidarity, physical proof of passage through an unimaginable crucible that few outsiders could understand. The campaign marked the first major Allied victory against Japan, kicking off the bloody campaign across the Pacific, but it came at a steep cost. More than 1,600 Americans died, and thousands more were wounded. For many, the psychological scars of the campaign lasted a lifetime.

There are medals for valor, for wounds sustained in combat, and for meritorious service. But the George Medal is one-of-a-kind. It’s for the late-night shelling, the maggot-infested rice, the fever dreams and foxhole prayers. For those who made it off “the Rock,” and the ones who didn’t. It is a keepsake that says, “You survived Hell. Here is something for that.” 

The George Medal may not be regulation, but for those that received it, it is as real and as earned as any decoration Uncle Sam ever struck in bronze.