Ed's answer is generally correct, of course, but there were exceptions. I shall now lapse into one of my late father's favorite sea stories. Those of limited patience - stop reading here.
Dad was a junior boat group officer on board an attack transport, the U.S.S. Bollinger (APA-234). As an auxiliary built under Maritime Commission contract during the war, she had no name welded on her stern.
Shortly after VJ Day, a signal came from Washington ordering that all ships paint their names on their sterns. The Bollinger was at that time tied up somewhere or other (in the Philippines, I think) next to two other attack transports. The captain ordered, quite emphatically, that his ship was to have her name painted on her stern before the other two did.
Dad was an architect by training, and had worked for a while in the Ohio State Department of Highways, during the Depression, making roadsigns. So he got the job. He figured the best way to make the captain happy would be to paint the lettering directly on the hull plating while the shipfitters were cutting the letters out of steel sheet (to patterns Dad drew for them). The steel letters could be welded in place as they were finished.
The signal from on high had said that the name was to be applied in "black letters." The ship being dark grey overall, Dad concluded that the signalman copying down the message had made a mistake; that it had actually read "block letters." So he drew patterns for block letters reading BOLLINGER, gave them to the shipfitters, and got hold of a can of white paint and some brushes.
Dad, having made his living for some time as a signpainter, was perfectly capable of doing the lettering job - and apparently was the only man in the ship who could do it. The captain, however, had a strict policy against officers doing any sort of manual labor. (But he also wanted those letters on the stern in a hurry.)
Dad's solution was to have a couple of enlisted men lower him, the paint bucket, and the brushes over the stern in a bosun's chair. That way, he figured, he wouldn't be visible from the bridge - and the captain, happy to beat the other two ships in the great labeling contest, wouldn't bother to ask how the job had been done.
Dad was dangling on the bosun's chair, with the lettering job about half finished, when he heard the sound of an engine underneath him. He looked down to see the captain's gig chugging slowly around the stern of the ship - with the captain sitting in it glaring up at him. Dad just sat there looking sheepish, and went on with the job.
The captain never said a word to him about the incident. And the Bollinger may, I suppose, have been the only ship in the Pacific amphibious force with her name painted white.
My father had an endless list of stories like that. One of the biggest regrets of my life is that, though we talked casually several times about getting his "oral history" down on tape, we never did it - and now it's too late. There's a lesson there for anybody with a veteran in his or her family. The last time I checked, American WWII vets were dying at the rate of about 1500 per day. The time to make a record of your relatives' memories is NOW.