Recollection of Christmas a Half Century Ago   

By Joe Dabney

I well remember that Christmas day of 1950. The scene was at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, where I was undergoing six weeks of basic training at Tank Hill, being assigned to the 56th Field Artillery. The drill sergeants were trying their best to turn us green draftees ­ most of us in our early 20's ­ into soldiers for a war raging in far off Korea. The North Koreans had invaded South Korea in June of that year and the war was turning critical, with our American forces being cornered in the "Pusan Perimeter" on the nation's southern tip.

They had given us heavy M-1 rifles there at Fort Jackson, and in addition to teaching us to shoot straight, one of our first assignments was to break down the rifle and reassemble it in a matter of minutes. They wanted us to be able to do that in the dark of night if necessary.

They gave us Christmas day off from the rifle range and I remember being mighty surprised and happy that my parents, along with my brother Arthur, his wife and young son Carol, showed up at the base and were allowed to come inside the gates to visit me that afternoon.

Who would have known that exactly one year later, on Christmas Day, 1951, my Army buddies and I would be celebrating Christmas day in Korea, in that very Pusan Perimeter we had read about earlier. Our troops had broken out of the Perimeter following McArthur's thrust through Inchon near Seoul. So Pusan, the bulging port city, had overnight become a refuge for tens of thousands of homeless Koreans, a mecca for the bereaved, a haven for the weary, a resting place for the tired.

That Christmas of 1951 was a study in contrasts. GI's who were lucky enough to be that far behind the fighting front felt a bit guilty that day, stuffing up on turkey and cranberry sauce and all the other delicacies while our front line troops were facing a fanatical enemy. We also felt guilty at being so privileged while most of the Korean civilians were hungry and cold.

As our big trucks roared down the curvy hillside road through the cardboard, beer can slums on our way to the chow hall near the docks, the kids we passed sensed that this was a special day. I wondered if there wasn't something we could do for them. They followed us down and watched us enter the chow hall.

The mess sergeant provided candles for the tables and had a little menu printed up as a memento of this Christmas Day in Korea.

Nobody thought to thank the Good Lord for the food. You get that way in the Army. But the Christmas spirit flickered within many a GI heart in that chow hall that day.

As we emerged from the building the chill Siberian wind slapped our faces and I zipped up my parka. The Korean youngsters, shivering and hungry, were still standing there, their hands outstretched, their faces eager. I felt helpless that I could do nothing more than pitch them a few sticks of candy.

Up the hill went our truck with the crowd of yelling youngsters swarming alongside and behind us, growing louder and larger as we continued to toss candy. We were happy to see the smiles on the kids' faces. We passed a Korean war veteran with one of his legs missing. Just before we reached our quonset hut village at the top of the hill, our candy ran out. When the children found out all the goodies were gone, their smiles collapsed like a punctured balloon. They turned around and trudged silently back down the filthy road.

As I entered my quonset hut, I prayed a silent prayer that here on the birthday of the Prince of Peace that peace would soon come to that war torn country, and that the Korean people would soon see an end to the war.

~ ~ ~

Several years ago I clipped this "Christmas Card" poem from a community magazine, and I like to pull it out every year end and read it anew. It captures the Christmas spirit in such a special way, reflecting the quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson that "I am a part of all I have met."

I extend my gratitude to the author, Father Charles of the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers:

I have a list of folks I know
All written in a book,
And every year at Christmas time
I go and take a look.
And that is when I realize that
These names are a part,
Not of the book they're written in,
But of my very heart.
For each name stands for someone who
Has crossed my path sometime.
And in that meeting they've become,
"The rhythm of the rhyme."
And while it sounds fantastic,
For me to make this claim,
I really feel I am composed,
Of each remembered name.
And while you may not be
Of any special link,
Just meeting you has shaped my life,
More than you can think.
For once you've met somebody,
The years cannot erase
The memory of a pleasant word,
Or a friendly face.
So never think my Christmas card,
Is just a mere routine
Of names upon a Christmas card
Forgotten in between.
For when I send a Christmas card
That is addressed to you,
It's because you're on the list of folks
That I'm indebted to.
For you're a part of the total
Of many folks I've met.
And you happen to be one of those
I prefer not to forget.
And whether I've known you
For many years or few,
In some way you have had a part
In shaping things I do.
Every year when Christmas comes,
I realize anew,
The biggest gift that life can give,
Is meeting folks like you.

Joe Dabney is a writer and speaker whose recent book, "Smokehouse Ham, Spoon Bread and Scuppernong Wine", won the James Beard Award as "Cookbook of the year" and is now in the 11th printing. It contains many additional stories of Crockett Wilson. He can be reached at joedabney@aol.com.