Monday, December 24, 2012

Peace Be With You




A very Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and a Happy New Year to all.  In appreciation for the pleasure of your company this past year, I’m offering my eBook collection of essays from this blog, “Classic Films and the American Conscience”here from Amazon for free Christmas Day through the 27th.  This will be the last time this book is offered free; in the new year it will be available not only through Amazon but also through Barnes & Noble’s Nook, Apple, Sony, Diesel, Kobo, and Smashwords.
I’m going to take a couple weeks off to tend to some other business, but I’ll be back in late January for another year of exploring and otherwise obsessively picking apart the carcasses of old movies.  I hope you can join me.
This is going to be a difficult Christmas for many who have suffered tragedy and loss this year; and for the people of Newtown, Connecticut, December will never ever be the same. 
 
 
A few weeks ago I blogged about “Cry Havoc” a movie which takes place in the Philippines during World War II.  I was reminded by many images through that film of my father. 
My father entered the Army in December 1942 and missed Christmas at home that year.  He had a wife and a new baby.  He was sent to the Pacific Theater of operations and island-hopped with all the rest of the gang, and Christmas of 1943 passed by, and then Christmas 1944.
There were no telephone calls home, no emails, only letters and tiny “V-Mail” notes that took weeks to get home.  He sent Christmas messages home in early November, hoping they would make it in time.
In the summer of 1945 he was in the Philippines, and endured horrific experiences he did not like to talk much about.  He also got malaria, which stayed in his bloodstream so that he continued to suffer a bout of it after he got home.  There were other injuries and wounds, but good news came when the Japanese surrendered, which was totally unexpected for regular GIs like my dad, who were convinced they’d be spending 1946, 1947, and 1948 still fighting the war. 
Now that peace was declared, his only enemy was time.  He wanted to get back home for Christmas 1945.
He had earned enough points to be rotated home.  Several weeks on a troop ship.  He passed under the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, which was the last thing he saw of the US when he left.  Now that he saw it again, he really believed he was home.
A few days being processed, and more days on the train because he lived on the other side of the continent.  After being in the jungle for three years, winter in the US was a shock, and his first telegram home contains the line, “COLD COUNTRY.” 
Leave it to a New Englander to squeeze in a comment about the weather in his first telegram to his wife.
Finally he arrived at Ft. Devens in the eastern part of Massachusetts, and a few more days of the mustering out process.  Medical exam, paperwork, ribbons and commendations, a clean uniform to home in, and finally a “ruptured duck” lapel pin to wear. 
But he lived in the western part of the state, so it was another train ride.  He sat in the station in Boston, waiting for his connecting train, and ate at a lunch counter.  The man behind the counter gestured to his ribbons and said, “You’re money’s no good here, son.  You’ve done enough,” and wouldn’t let him pay.
Decades later, my father still felt grateful, humbled, and embarrassed by the moment.
When the train pulled into the station, his wife and daughter were there on the platform.  His daughter wasn’t a baby anymore, but a little kid running around.  She had been told many times that the man in the portrait photo at home in the uniform was Daddy.  She got mixed up and thought anybody in uniform was Daddy and had to be told over and over again that, no, that’s not Daddy.
Finally her mother points to a tall, handsome guy stepping off the train and says, “There’s your Daddy.”  I’m thinking my sister, with all the wisdom of a small child thought, “Yeah, right.  Tell me another one.  I’m not falling for that again.”
It was January 1946.  He failed to get home for Christmas. 
In his last telegram he wrote “SORRY ABOUT THE HOLIDAYS.”  A real man sometimes apologizes for what isn’t even his fault.
My father was in his early 20s when he left.  He had fired weapons in war, but the experience did not make a man of him.  He was man because he had a family and took responsibility for them.  Responsibility is what made him a man, and he knew it.  He was good marksman, but he looked down on people who needed guns to make them feel manly, or make them feel safe.  It was a crutch for cowards, he thought.
I was tempted to use as a graphic an ad here published by an assault weapons manufacturer that inferred that manhood would be achieved by ownership of their product.  However, I refuse to print any words or images on this blog that are obscene.  That image and the message behind it are obscene.
My parents lost four Christmases, and the years ahead would not be easy.  As anybody knows, happy endings are only for movies.  But they accepted what they could not change, and tried to be resilient, and change what they could.
The people of Newtown must accept what they cannot change.
The rest of us must change what we can. 
Now.
 
 
 
Peace be with you.
 

5 comments:

FlickChick said...

Jacqueline - this is a beautiful post and moved me to tears. It has been a very hard year for us (especially in the northeast)and I pray 2013 is a better one and that we can somehow learn from the tragedy. And now - in the spirit of loving a good gift - I'm on my way to get a free e-book!! Thanks a bunch and have a peaceful and healing holiday.

LucieWickfield said...

What a wonderful (and inspiring) story about your courageous father! We take our togetherness for granted.
Just a word, if you'll permit me, on men and their choice to bear arms. You are absolutely right-- guns should never be used to inflate a sense of macho-manhood. However I think we need to understand that that is not the only reason why men (and women) choose to purchase guns. My dad never used or even thought about owning a gun until several months ago. He's a white-collar businessman who has never been hunting and isn't planning to. He is not the macho type. At the same time, though, my dad is concerned for his family's safety. We live in a town renowned for its soaring crime rate and as reluctant as my dad was to purchase (and spend the time learning to use) a gun, he knew he could never stand idly by while someone broke the law at the expense of his family. My dad does not enjoy having a gun, but at least he can go to sleep knowing that he can protect us if he needs to.

So, please understand (as I hope you already do) that guns are not all the man-toys the media describes. Employing that generalization is unfair to the men who mourn the purchase of their first gun and hope and pray never to have cause to use it.

Yvette said...

Wonderful wonderful post, Jacqueline. Your father sounds like a kind, dear man. A real man. Thanks for writing about him (I am always curious to read about fathers and such since I didn't have a close relationship with mine)My father fought in Europe and never spoke about his experiences ever. At least not to me or my brother.

The events in Newtown were a horror that somehow must be endured.

NO ONE NEEDS A SUB-MACHINE GUN to hunt or to protect their family.

ClassicBecky said...

My Dad was in the Army Air Corps in the Japanese theatre. He did some island-hopping too. Makes you wonder if our fathers ever were at the same place at the same time. My Dad sounds like yours, very much. We knew some bad things had happened, but he would never tell us anything but funny stories. Once he let slip that his best friend had been killed on a bomb run -- but he turned and looked at me, and then started teasing me, tickling me, just to change the subject.

God bless our Dads, Jacqueline, and all the other Dads who went through hell. I'm sure they did not do it so a Sandy Hook could happen! We all need to deserve what they gave us, and our culture is sadly lacking in that respect.

See you when you return -- I hope 2013 brings good things.

Page said...

Jacqueline,
A very moving post. I agree that things must change. It's heartbreaking that losing so many children is what it takes to motivate some.

Cry Havoc is on a lot of peoples minds lately. Deserving! : )

Wishing you all the best in 2013. I've really enjoyed your thoughtful posts this past year and I look forward to what you have in store for us this year.

Page