Open Writing

Willie seldom got mail. When he did get a letter, it was always from the same person, a Mrs. somebody, from Lancaster, Pa.

The food was bad. The wooden barracks, designed for sixty, now housed two hundred. The San Francisco Bay area weather in December was foggy, rainy, and dreary. Palm trees and eucalyptus; no spruces, no bare limbed maples. Not Christmas season for us Easterners.

We were old soldiers, with six months or more of basic training and service schools behind us. All strangers a month ago. This would be our first Christmas away from home. Too tough to admit we were homesick or lonesome.

We scouted the PX for Christmas presents to send home to little brothers and sisters, girl friends, and parents. I sent gifts to three different girls, mostly to impress the other guys. I didn't really have a girl friend.

Willie didn't send any gifts. We pretended not to notice. He was pretty quiet. Spent most of his spare time lying on his bunk, reading. Or shining his boots. He had the shiniest boots in George Company.

Christmas got closer. Packages from home. Some things were to share, like my Mother's German Chocolate cake. Some packages marked, 'Don't open before Christmas.'

Willie didn't get any packages at all.

A few days before Christmas, Sgt. Thomson sent Willie on an errand. He called the rest of us to the supply room. He told us about Willie.

Willie was an Amishman. He came from a farm near Lancaster, Pa. He was supposed to live at home, and obey his father, until he married. Then his father would have to approve the girl.

He was almost twenty when he ran away from home and joined the Army. Amish are conscientious objectors. His father had disowned him. He had been shunned. His name could not be spoken. He was to be treated as if he had never existed.

The letters were from a customer on his mother's Butter and Egg route. She was a good friend of his mother, and relayed messages between them, when Willie's mother came to deliver eggs. If Willie's father found out, his mother would be in serious trouble at home.

Sgt. Thomson volunteered to start a Christmas package. And send Willie a Christmas card. We all agreed to help. Frank Yost, Company Clerk, said we could hide the box in the Orderly Room.

Captain Shea, the Company Commander, and 'Top' Topolowski, the First Sergeant, heard about it, too. Capt. Shea's wife made up a big package of homemade fudge. Top contributed a sport shirt, because he had noticed Willie didn't own any 'Civvies'. Most of us were close to broke. It was a long time since payday. But everyone came up with something, even if it was only a couple of sacks of Bull Durham tobacco.

The morning before Christmas, we made sure Willie was around at Mail Call. He was amazed when Frank, who was acting as mail clerk, called his name time after time. A dozen cards, at least! He was grinning from ear to ear!

'Thank you guys! Hey, thank you! I didn't get any cards for you, but thank you all!'

Christmas morning, those of us who had saved some gifts opened them. Frank went to Mass.

We all headed for the mess hall. There was a special Christmas dinner, with baked hams, turkeys, cranberries and yeast biscuits. Even Willie cheered up some.

Frank stopped at the orderly room on the way back. He emerged carrying a box.
'Willie,' Frank said, 'This has your name on it.'

We watched while Willie opened his box. It was full of gifts. A box of candy bars, the shirt from Top, the fudge from Mrs. Shea. A package of razor blades. A tube of toothpaste. Some Bull Durham, Some 'civvy' socks. A bottle of Aqua Velva.

Willie got a strange look on his face. Soldiers are tough. Soldiers take life as it comes. Soldiers don't cry.

After everything had been opened and admired, the First Sergeant walked into the barracks. Top was a big, tough, Pollock, a former Pennsylvania coal miner. He was married to Annie. Annie had been a WAC Staff Sergeant before they were married. She was a redheaded Irishwoman, with a temper to match. She and Top communicated by yelling orders at each other. They were well matched.

'All right, you guys,' yelled Top. 'Climb into that six-by-six. I’ve got a little detail for you, Christmas or no Christmas.'

He headed down the road, out of the camp. In a few minutes, the truck arrived at the housing area where he lived.

Annie met us at the door. Their small living room held a large Christmas tree. There was a punch bowl in the kitchen, and plates full of Christmas candy and cookies. Annie made us all line up and sing Christmas Carols.

Top got a little tipsy, and sung us a Christmas song in Polish.

I'm sure Willie had never celebrated Christmas like that. Nor had any of us.

© Jerry Selby