Back in the days when you had your choice between Hitler and Stalin, Chiang Kai Shek invited German drillmasters to train the ragtag recruits who were trying to repel the sadistic Japanese imperialists who were killing, raping, and pillaging China.
Some of these drillmasters stayed in China through the war, and afterwards declined to return to Germany in their Nazi uniforms, so they stayed put. When Mao conquered the mainland, these drillmasters figured, correctly probably, that German drillmasters, no matter how tepid or ardent their love for Hitler and the Nazis, would not fare well under a totalitarian communist regime, so when CKS moved to Taiwan, they packed their bags and moved too.
A drillmaster is, after all, a sort of teacher, and Chinese tradition pays profound respect to teachers, so the retired drillmasters were given homes and small stipends. There were only a few, and I never heard of any training ROC forces after the move to Taiwan, but there were a few of these old Nazis around Taipei; I would guess they have all died by now.
An old German soldier lived on 信義路 not far from where I lived in the early 70s. People said he lived quietly, modestly, harmlessly, and was a voracious reader, spending his last years among piles of books.
On the other end of the spectrum was an old Nazi living on 陽明山 Yangming Mountain, on the northern edge of Taipei. In the late 70s, Dave responded to an ad for a room for rent to foreigners only, and found himself renting a room from an elderly German with a heavy accent (in English; no Chinese).
The house was of a type almost extinct, 日本平房 wooden houses built during the Japanese Occupation of Taiwan to house the occupiers. They were built in Japanese style with Western windows and outer doors. When the Japanese surrendered, the houses were taken over and, very sensibly, kept in use, until they finally succumbed to age, termites, rot, typhoons that flew off with roof tiles, and sky-high land prices that made the land they stood on far too valuable for a one storey dwelling.
If you didn't mind the mosquitoes or rats, and the mold didn't bother you, they were quite pleasant to live in. I sought them out, and lived in three or four. So when Dave saw that the address on the ad led him to a Japanese wooden house, he was pleased, paid his rent to the old German promptly, and moved in without further ado.
At the crack of dawn the next morning, Dave was startled awake by a terrific racket. Crawling out of his room to investigate, he was alarmed to see his landlord, dressed in a complete Nazi uniform, wearing boots and goose-stepping up and down the hallway of the little house, screaming "Sieg Heil!" as he snapped off Nazi rigid-arm salutes. This went on for an hour, and was continued without break every morning that Dave stayed in the house, which was not long.
Understand that part of the shock was the idea of wearing shoes indoors. No civilized person enters a house shod, much less a wooden house! Dave said the floors banged like snare drums.
The landlord's only other passion in life was his chickens. He raised dozens of chickens in cages behind the house, and over and over again he explained to Dave that "These are good chickens, and you see why? Every one of them is WHITE, jah! White is the superior color! I will NOT HAVE chickens of any other color! No black chickens for me! I KILL the black chicken!! No red chicken, no brown chicken, only WHITE chickens, because WHITE is the superior color, jah! All mine chickens are WHITE, and ONLY WHITE, PURE WHITE!!”
Dave moved out after about ten days. He didn't have much money, but he couldn’t stand to stay in that house for a day longer than it took him to find other lodgings. "I'm no Jew, but for crying out loud I just couldn't stand that old freak!" He vowed revenge. He promised himself that one night he would sneak back to the house and spray-paint all the chickens some non-Aryan color. I suggested green. Dave thought that was a pretty good idea, and delighted himself by visualizing, over and over again, how horrified Herr Nazi would be to wake up one morning and discover that all his pure white chickens had turned green overnight. Dave would imitate a heavy Cherman accent, "Mine CHICKENS! Mine chickens zey haff turnt green, vat hass happened to mine VITE chickens, jah?" Unfortunately, Dave was a man of words, not action. I volunteered to buy the paint and go help spray; what self-respecting Serbian-American would pass up a chance to spray a Nazi's chickens green? But Dave contented himself with thinking how mortified old Herr Nazi would be to discover that his chickens were green, and nothing ever came of it. Too bad.
I am teaching 霖霖 how to shoot. He is learning quickly. We were winding down, his last batch of arrows. Just before he shot the last arrow, I noticed that his left hand was in the wrong position, but before I could correct him, he let fly. The arrow flew over the target, high over the hedge, and into the ravine. I heard it hit a rock. Not a problem, because these are target points, so they're not very sharp to begin with, and if I hear what the arrow hits, I have a better chance of finding it in the jungle down there.
