DAN KIMBER
My father-in-law, Pete Maga, had a favorite Christmas story that
always brought tears to his eyes when he told it. It involved 10 of
his army buddies from World War II, and it happened on Dec. 24,
1943.
His company was part of a platoon of soldiers stationed in Alaska
serving as forward sentinels against any movement by the Japanese in
that remote, but vulnerable corner of our country. Aside from a
family of bears these men adopted, they had only each other's company
for the better part of a year in a vast, frozen wilderness.
On this night before Christmas, the bitter cold and the remoteness
of their outpost deepened their feelings of isolation from the rest
of the world, and especially from their families. As they sat huddled
in their snowy encampment, memories of Christmases past and family
feasts and home fires were shared. At this end of the earth, and in a
world torn by war, this was to be their Christmas.
A radio had been left on for the past week in hopes of hearing
some news, any news, which would put them in touch with home. But the
steady droning of static piercing the night air was all they heard.
In a way, the crackling of the radio was a connection, however faint,
with the outside world, and it seemed to bring some comfort to these
men.
On this night, however, as the snow fell and they were gathered
together around their campfire, the static cleared for a few precious
minutes. The men stopped talking and couldn't believe their ears.
They settled back into their blankets and their private memories as
an armed forces broadcast found its way into their northern latitude.
Bing Crosby was singing to them, quite clearly, of a white Christmas.
Somehow, some way, this familiar voice and this beloved song had
made its way to these very lonely soldiers in this desolate place.
"A genuine Christmas miracle," my father-in-law would always
punctuate the end of his story, once he regained his composure. In
the years since, these men never lost contact with each other, and
this was their most cherished memory.
On this Christmas while we celebrate and come together as
families, we might all pause to remember the young men and women who
are many miles away from us serving their country in its present
cause. Even those of us who respectfully, but fervently, disagree
with our country's present course can still honor and pray for the
safe return of our soldiers.
My thoughts go out to the Ravago family, who lost their son in the
present conflict in Iraq. I did not have Rel in my class, but knew
him as so many did as a happy, outgoing young man who was liked by
everyone. We at Hoover share in his loss and honor the pride their
parents felt for their son.
In his memory and in the memory of all who have fallen to bring
peace on this earth, we give our thanks -- along with the hope that
we will one day live in a world where our common humanity is more
important than our national origins; in a world where the teachings
of each religion unite, instead of divide, the people who follow
them; and in a world that recognizes that it is love, and not power,
that makes the world go around.
* DAN KIMBER lives in Montrose, is a product of Glendale schools
(as are his two daughters and his wife, Nadine), and has taught in
Glendale schools for more than 30 years. Reach him at dkimb8@aol.com.
