12.09.04
A Christmas Story
(From

Fifty-one years ago I was a young, pubescent staff sergeant with the 1st Battalion, 5th Marines in Korea.

In our Staff NCO tent lived a collection of characters. There was "Elias," the German. There was "Smock," who fancied himself an intellectual and who stayed busy counting his last ten days in Korea. There was "Cowlick," who was bitter at the world after an unhappy marriage and three wayward kids. There was "Geoffrey." Geoff and I constituted what Elias called the "Children's Corner" of the tent. We were both young, and we looked it, and had to suffer the verbal abuse of the senior citizens of our tent.

Geoff had befriended an old Korean man who worked at the mess tents as a pot-walloper. Geoff announced on Christmas Eve morning that the old man wanted to visit our tent that afternoon to wish us a Merry Christmas. Cowlick looked at Geoff, sneered, lit a cigarette, and left the tent. Elias asked "Vat duz dat kook vant?" I was indifferent. Smock was busy staring at his calendar.

We were all in the tent that afternoon at about three when Geoff ushered in the old man and his family. His family consisted of his daughter and her three children. One of the small ones was obviously blind. One had only one leg. The third appeared to be a perfectly healthy little girl of about four years.

Geoff had told me earlier that the old man had lost his wife to the war. He had moved in with his daughter and her family. Her husband had long since been killed while serving in the Korean Army. An enemy artillery round had landed close to the house during the initial invasion of South Korea, and had blinded the boy and amputated his sister's leg.

The old man, who spoke fairly good English, told us his family wanted to come by and give their Christmas greetings to the "Malines who fight for Korea." He then said something in the native tongue to his flock, and they lined up and began singing in Korean.

I've never heard a more beautiful "Silent Night" or "Joy to the World."

The thing which fascinated me about this little group was the perpetual smiles. Each of them smiled genuinely and continuously.

After the singing, they presented each of us with a small gift, handmade and obviously made with a labor of love for people they hardly knew.

I looked at Cowlick. His disinterest had turned to a confused look of bewilderment. Smock had put his calendar aside and sat on his rack, looking at the kids. Elias was smiling back at the little one-legged girl. Geoff was in his Christian glory. I felt a kind of heavy heart, but buoyant spirits, if that makes any sense.

Elias excused himself and left the tent. He returned shortly with some stolen baked goods from the mess tent. We broke out some carefully guarded cokes nd liquor.

We then had a small "tea" with the Korean family, mixing hot chocolate for the kids which they drank from our huge, metal canteen cups.

Cowlick motioned the little girl with one leg over to his packing-crate chair. She hobbled over on her crutches, and he lifted her to his lap. The old man smiled wider.

The little blind boy sat on Elias' lap. Elias attempted to give the kids several dollars in our "script" money, but the old man firmly, but politely intervened and would not permit it. He then took one of his dog tags off his necklace and gave it to the boy. The old man nodded his approval.

Smock dug around and came up with a brand new winter watch cap which he gave to the smallest girl.

I thought for a moment and then reached into my rolled-up sleeping bag and withdrew my treasured bottle of bourbon. I handed it to the old man who smiled, placed his hands as a guard in front of him and shook his head. I insisted, and he finally accepted.

Geoff gave the young mother a gift he had previously purchased for her -- A new kettle.

We all sat and stood there in awkward silence. Cowlick was the first to speak. In his gruff, but somehow gentle voice, he said, "The Staff NCO choir will now sing for you." Then to us, "Gather around, you clowns."

We sang the English version of "Silent Night" and "Joy to the World." Most of the words were wrong, but the Koreans never noticed. They were smiling now more brightly than ever.

It was time for them to go. Geoff escorted them to the main gate where they started their five-mile trek back to their bombed-out, patched-up house.

Christmas had worked its never-failing magic on us. We sat around in silence for a while. Cowlick spoke up: "Elias, if you ever catch me feeling sorry for myself again, I want you to kick me right square in the ass."