A Veteran's Holiday Memory - My Father's Christmas Dinner During World War II

As families get together for Thanksgiving, and thoughts turn to Black Friday shopping and Christmas coming soon, I'm reminded of a very special Christmas my father experienced over 60 years ago while serving in the Navy during World War 2. With so many Americans serving in the armed forced deployed in war zones, and also across the USA, but still away from their families at this special time, I'm sure soldiers are still experiencing similar, special Holiday moments that they will remember and share with their families, 60 years from now.

This an absolutely true story. Just before Christmas 1944, the Army guys were still cleaning out enemy resistance on the Philippine Island of Leyte. They'd been ashore since mid-October, and in early December, the Navy established its communications base near the airfield at Tacloban.

My father was with a gang of sailors who lived in tents with Army units. They called them Doggies and they called my fathers group Swabbies, but they got along well except when it came to food. The Navy guys were accustomed to fresh shipboard chow, and being forced to eat K-rations three times a day was a constant gripe.

They were awaiting the next phase of General MacArthur's campaign, the invasion of the main Philippine island of Luzon, scheduled for January, and eventually recapture of the capital city of Manila. Meanwhile, they lived in endless mud, occasional enemy snipers and that terrible K-ration food.

What made the mess in the mess tent even worse, Christmas time was happening, and all they could look forward to was the same routine of canned spaghetti and Spam. However, that was soon to change. One day, actually Christmas Eve morning, when my father was making his way through the muck to the outdoor latrine, a jeep sloshed by and splashed mud all over him. He cursed and shook his fist at the jeep driver.

The jeep came to a sudden halt, and a big sailor jumped out and came toward him. By the size of the guy, he knew he would soon be eating more mud. However, instead of anger, he laughed and grabbed my father in a bear hug, and said: "I'd recognize that cursing anywhere!" Then he called out my father's name. Unfolding himself, my father looked into the grinning face of Jack, a high school swim team classmate.

After more hugs, Jack told him he was with a Navy Construction Battalion (SeaBees) that was just on the other side of the Tacloban airport, where they had been repairing runways and buildings. They went to my father's tent, and as he cleaned off the mud, they talked of old times ... actually just two years ago ... at school. As Jack was about to leave, he invited my father to Christmas dinner with the SeaBees the following day, and said he'd come by and pick him up.

He agreed, but wasn't too enthusiastic about Christmas dinner of more cans of Spam and soggy spaghetti. Jack came by the next day and took my father to the Sea Bee camp. Instead of tents, those Navy guys were living in Quonset Huts, the prefab curved metal buildings that offered considerably more comfort than muddy tents.

When Jack took my father over to the mess hut, instead of K-rations, the tables were loaded with baked fresh
chickens, stuffing, fresh yams, beans and other fresh vegetables. The very resourceful SeaBee dog "robbers" (supply officers) had bought everything from the island's local merchants, something that apparently had not occurred to their Army opposites, who were content with the boxed and canned rations they had brought ashore.

That unexpected feast with the SeaBees on the island of Leyte was my father's most memorable Christmas dinner, and I can remember being told the story even as I was a little kid, always during Holiday family get
togethers. The memory is still as fresh in my father's memory today as that roast chicken he feasted on so many, many years ago.