Inside this card from Christmas 1941 is a message from John Downes, Rear Admiral USN, Commanding.
“It it my privilege and pleasure to extend Christmas greetings to the officers and men at the Naval Training Station and to their loved ones at home.
During the coming year we will be bound together even more closely, by the united efforts of all, to defend and preserve our American way of life.
It is my sincere wish that each of you may have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”
The following page included a menu for the CHRISTMAS DAY DINNER at the US Naval Training Station.
Cream of Tomato Soup
Saltine Crackers
Roast Tom Turkey Oyster Dressing
Baked Spiced Ham
Candied Sweet Potatoes
Giblet Gravy Fresh Cranberry Sauce
Sweet Pickles Stuffed Celery Ripe Olives
Fruit Cake Hot Mince Meat Pie Fruit
Hot Rolls Butter Coffee
Candy Nuts
Cigarettes
The back page listed Christmas Church Services. Those on Christmas Eve, December 24th for the Main Station included Protestant services at 2300: Candlelight Choir and Carol Service followed by celebration of Holy Communion, at the Drill Hall, Building no. 4.
Catholic services were at 2400: Midnight Mass in the Auditorium of Building No. 3.
Services on Christmas Day, December 25th for the First Regiment included Protestant services at 1000: Christmas Service, Drill Hall, Building No. 4. Frank Lash Captain, USN, Senior Chaplain.
Catholic service also at 1000: Christmas Mass, Auditorium of Building No. 3. Additional Christmas Masses to be held at 0715 and 0915 in the Hospital Chapel.
Though no personal note from Lester exists, he evidently was able to celebrate Christmas at the training station with other Navy personnel. The note from the commander echoed the tension felt across the country as troops and sailors readied themselves for battle in World War II. No doubt many prayers were lifted that Christmas season for peace on earth and a quick end to the escalating conflict around the world.
Sometimes clawing, creeping fingers of ice threaten to douse the sparkle of the season.
A few years ago, in the aftermath of my father’s death, I was called to tune the piano in the home of a man who had lost his wife within the previous few months. She had always been the person to arrange the tunings. In his attempts to heal, he was following her habits, taking over tasks that had always been hers. So he called me to tune the piano, even though the main piano player was no longer around.
Given my fresh loss, and his, we fell into conversation about our experiences. There is healing to be found by talking with someone who walks the same path you walk. When I headed to my next appointment, my spirit had been lifted by sharing our separate and individual grief.
Dan Deener is the man who grieved for his beloved wife Lin. Before I left his home, he gave me a link to find a special analogy he wanted to share. Over the past few years, I have shared his story with others who faced a new loss. I am always amazed at the healing power to be found by simply sharing a personal story with others who hurt.
This is Dan’s story:
Many years ago when I lost my father suddenly and unexpectedly I came up with this metaphor for the grief I was dealing with. I was struggling and it hurt so much. It was as if God handed you a bucket of grief and it was soooo heavy. You had to get up every morning and carry it with you. You didn’t know how you could carry it but you did.
Bucket in the sand (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
But, every morning when you could swing your feet over the edge of the bed and get up you were entitled to take a scoop of sand from the bucket. Every time you cried, every time you smiled with a pleasant memory, every time some one said how much your loved one meant to them, every time you told some one a story about your loved one, every holiday you must endure without them, every anniversary, every birthday, every night when you go to bed……………….you get to take another scoop of sand from your bucket. You get the idea.
The bucket gets lighter but there is always more sand in the bucket and you will have to carry it the rest of your life. Such is the cost of loving some one.
As I sit in front of the computer and tears run down my cheeks, guess what. I get to take another scoop of sand from my bucket. I hope we can help each other make our load lighter.
Many thanks to Dan Deener for permission to share his story here today. And with compassion, I think of all my friends who are nursing pain and loss of their own. I think of those who face this holiday season for the first time in their lives without a special loved one. I think of Cheryl, of Madeline, Kelley, Travis, Scott, Linda and Michael, Maureen, Derek, Barbara, Ann, Helena, Daniel, and Vickie. I also think of Jim, and Mary, Sheryl, Marcel, Travis, Ralph, Mildred, Derek, Kay, Chaz, Gary, Donte, Mike, Jan, Ashley, Wayne, Phoebe, Allison, Juanita, Betty, Jeff, Roxy, and Joyce who continue to feel the void of beloved family members through the passing years. I think of Grizzly, and Barbara, and others who struggle with health issues of their own or in their families.
And I want to say, “You are not alone.”
With each passing day of this holiday season, we can all take another scoop of sand from our buckets of grief. By connecting with others who know what it’s like, we can all help each other make our loads lighter.
It happened again last night. I tossed in bed, unable to sleep, trying to still the voices in my head. They pointed out every flaw I’ve ever had, identified my weaknesses, my insufficiencies. Whispers in my mind invited me to retire from civilization, to crawl into my cozy hole and give up on the crazy madhouse of insanity the world has become.
The landscape outside is painted in drab colors. Temperatures plunge into single digits. Winter has arrived, and with it, the holiday blues. I wonder how many others struggle to step through each day, as if dragging buckets of sand with each foot. The joyfulness of the season is forced into shadows of a heart that weeps silently with unforgotten pain and memories of Christmases long ago when excitement was real.
Those who brace themselves for another season without the presence of a dear one must number in the millions. There are new widows and widowers every year, as well as newly bereft parents, and children who will never share another holiday with a parent. There are friends who miss best friends forever, treasured aunts or uncles or grandparents now living only in memories. There are beloved pets who now wait for their owners at the rainbow bridge, not to mention people who have lost other treasures. Marriages, relationships, and friendships have gone sour. Some people have lost their robust health. Some are disfigured with scars of character in a culture that worships a narrow definition of beauty. Some have lost the vitality of youth and grieve for days that will never return. Some mourn the loss of dreams, of visions they once harbored about the way life should be and never was. Do they all struggle to remain cheerful like I do?
The things to mourn mount in number as we age until they could easily overwhelm us with grief, especially at the holidays. Given the vast array of personal loss, I wonder sometimes if anyone can escape the cold, clawing fingers of holiday blues that spread around the heart and threaten to snuff out the season’s joy. Are we all simply seduced by the advertisers to make ourselves feel better in the stores? Shop until we drop. Buy. Buy. Buy. I have yet to see the frenzy of Christmas shopping make anyone truly feel better. Are we all simply just going through the motions, with no regard for the long-range consequences?
And yet—and yet—the actions involved in going through the motions can bring healing. Getting up and dragging myself through the day’s routine can be a salve for those forever-wounds. Taking steps to bring a moment of cheer to someone else can lighten my load and brighten the day’s drab landscape. Choices made in honor of missing loved ones ease the pain of their absence.
So, I smile. Even when I have to make myself smile. I stand a little taller. I pull my shoulders back and put a spring into my gait. When I reach out to others, the gesture warms my own heart. Perhaps it warms them too. Somehow, in some mystifying way, the joy and the peace inherent in the season finds its way into a small crevice in my armor. I am one step closer to feeling whole again.
Some things I have tried at various times in the past to help vanquish the blues include (but are not limited to):
1. Take a box of my homemade cookies to someone who wouldn’t expect them.
2. Focus on the music of the season. Play it every chance I get, in every way possible, on every instrument I have. Piano arrangements, dulcimer music, handbell choirs or small ensembles, even recordings–all can bring joy through beautiful melodies.
3. Contribute whatever pocket change I have every single time I encounter a bell ringer for the Salvation Army.
Parlor at the Cattle Baron Inn.Cattle Baron Inn Bed and Breakfast, Howard, Kansas
4. Expand my horizons. Do something I’ve never done before, like booking an overnight stay at a nearby bed-and-breakfast.
5. Take a long walk in a natural setting. Walk until I see something new, or think of a totally new thought.
6. Renew an old friendship or make a new friend.
To all who struggle to find cheer during the holiday season, may you feel a moment of peace now and then to comfort your heart.
English: A navy photographer snapped this photograph of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii on December 7, 1941, just as the USS Shaw exploded. (80-G-16871) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Pearl Harbor in Hawaii was attacked on December 7, 1941, catapulting the US into World War II. All over the country people learned the news with disbelief. They braced for decisive action, and worried more about their sons in military service.
Lester jotted a quick note of reassurance to his family on December 7 and air mailed it home on December 8, with two 3 cent stamps instead of the usual one. He knew they’d be worried, and for good reason. At the time he wrote, nobody knew what to expect in the coming days or weeks. But he wanted to let them know he understood how worried they would be and to tell them that he would be in touch when possible. He had been in the US Navy a total of six weeks.
When the letter arrived, his folks didn’t take the time to release the envelope seal. They dispensed with proprieties and ripped the end off to get his news as fast as they could.
There is no evidence that he was able to keep his planned Christmas leave. All leaves must have been cancelled.
Dec 7, 1941.
Sunday 3:30
Dear Folks:
Anything I am about to tell you may be changed by the time you receive this letter. First, my leave has not yet been cancelled but the chances are that all leaves will be cancelled. The boys who did not make trade school have received notice that they will leave for the coast this Friday. We may have to leave also then but have had no word to that effect. Ernest did not make trade school & must leave Friday so of course he will not get leave. The news of the war has been quite a shock to us here. There is a lot of activity here now. I might call you by telephone if I learn anything but don’t jump every time it rings. Will write more when I learn something. Try not to worry as I may yet get to go to trade school. Don’t write after Wednesday unless you hear from me again.
Lester
Evidently, this is the last letter sent home in 1941. The next envelope would not arrive until mid-January. Perhaps he was able to telephone with news once or twice, but there is no way to know. It was weeks before his regular letter-writing schedule returned to a pre-war pattern. The holiday season in 1941 surely held more anxiety than joy. His family must have agonized about their beloved son and brother and what would happen to him next.
Though none knew it at the time, Lester’s letter home on December 3, 1941 was written on the first day of his last year on earth. It was a routine letter, upbeat and chatty. Nobody suspected that in only a few days, life would change drastically for all of them, or that Lester had only 365 days to live.
December 3, 1941
Dear Folks:
I want to drop you a line to let you know that I am feeling fine. I hope that dad & granddad are better by now. I’m sorry that I can’t find much news to make my letters more interesting but we live very much of a routine life here, one day is just about the same as another. Today we had another bag inspection & this time nearly everyone passed it. Mr. Baker said it was the best bag layout any of his companies had ever had. By the way, that picture of the “other boy” was Mr. Baker. He is our commander or boss. We all like him just fine. He is going to sea when he gets through with us.
The U.S. Navy hospital ship USS Solace (AH-5) circa 1941 in Hawaiian waters. She arrived at Pearl Harbor on 27 October 1941 and handled hundreds of casualties on 7 December 1941 during the Japanese attack there. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A new officer is working with Mr. Baker so as to be able to train recruits. We call him Bakers’ shadow & “The Little Colonel”. He is a mighty fine fellow too. We joke & have a lot of fun with him. He came into the navy as a petty officer, has been in five months & is drawing $110 per month. Of course he had special training to do that.
I forgot to tell you in my other letters about Mr. Baker. I sent you the little booklet about Navy life but I didn’t know what was in it as the envelopes were sealed when we got them. You asked about the training here. We drill with rifles nearly every day but it is all marching. We haven’t fired a shot & won’t while we are here. I don’t get along with the marching any too well. It is hard for me to keep in step.
Postal card from the U.S. Naval Training Station, Great Lakes, Ill. 1941
We won the red rooster flag this week. It is a flag with a rooster emblem on it which is awarded on points won on drill. There is a blue rooster for next week. Our bag inspection, barracks & personal inspection count on it. We are working for it.
Something To Crow About (Photo credit: cobalt123)
Does the climate agree with me? Well, the last time I weighed I had gained about twelve or thirteen pounds. The grass is still green here & we don’t wear coats or gloves except once in a while. I’ll probably freeze when I come home. It is damp & foggy a good share of the time.
Yes, we will have to pay our own expenses home but I will have enough money & there isn’t anything I need, thanks.
That sounds like a dirty deal about Lillian & her boy friends. Did you go to her program? Ernest is ready to mail a letter so I’ll close & let him take this one too. Write again.
The Bridge 