Christmas
Eve-1950
Here we were all bundled up from the cold and singing Christmas Carols as a
light snow was falling. Our entire 1st Squad huddled around and in between songs
shared stories about past Christmas times with family. As we stood around I
heard a familiar, distinctive voice from the past. It was an old friend and
classmate of mine from O'Dea High School in Seattle. His name was Joseph Gerard
Patrick O'Brien, a true Mick and a finer Marine never lived. When we first met
as freshmen in High School Joe and I got in a beef, and to make a long story
short he whipped my ass something fierce. It didn't take long before we became
the best of friends. Joe went into the Corps in early 1945 and from Boot Camp
wrote me saying,
'whatever you do join the Army, Navy,or Air Corps, but whatever you do don't
join the Marine Corps." I figured if he could do it I sure as hell could. I took
up the challenge and against my dear mothers wishes ended up at MCRD San Diego.
But back to Christmas Eve.
Fortunately, I had requisitioned two bottles of Suntori while in Japan and
needless to say, it didn't las too long. After the Caroling broke up we headed
back to our "luxurious quarters", for some "hors ovaries",(or for you East Coast
Marines,hors d'oeuvres)to go along with our beverage. We proceeded to toast
anything and everyone, including Truman, Acheson and even MacArthur. Un
fortunately, the two bottles of Suntori didn't last too long. However we made
do and as a Marine family enjoyed our Christmas Eve in the "Land of the Morning
Calm".
p.s. The following poem was published in the December 2001 issue of
Leatherneck Magazine.
Korean Christmas-1950
It was cold, so cold, at that Masan site,
As we gathered to sing carols,
On Christmas Eve night.
Far from home, family and friends,
Still the warmth we shared knew no ends.
Snow flurries added to the spirit of Christmas,
While some even wondered,
If the folks back home still missed us.
Korea! Korea! Where the hells that?
I can't even find on my Old World map.
But here we are at Truman's request,
All bundled up for a long winters quest.
Then I heard Joe O'Brien say,
"Hey! Where's me hat?"
And in an instant I knew where I was at.
You see Joe was a classmate of mine at O'Dea
A High School in Seattle, so far away.
We hadn't seen each other in years,
So we talked of old times over Asahi beers.
We sang carols of course,
And cursed Dean Acheson and Harry,
But time was short so not to worry,
We had good hot chow, warm clothes,
And lots of Suntori!
Then Christmas Eve faded along with our dreams,
Of being home early for Christmas,
Just another of MacArthur's schemes.
Edmonds veteran, Boyce Clark knows the meaning of sacrifice.
Wartime in 2003, it means nonstop news on cable TV. It means people fretting about flying off to exotic vacation spots. It means a stock market roller-coaster ride. If we’re honest, to those of us without loved ones in the military, wartime means inconvenience. It means heightened feelings of patriotism or anxiety, or both.
But in 2003, as we go about our business of working, picking up the kids and going to the mall, we don’t have a sense of wartime meaning sacrifice.
Sacrifice. That’s not an easy word for people too young to remember the home front during previous wars.
Boyce Clark remembers.
His life is a lesson in wartime sacrifice, a reminder of what can be endured and what can be lost on the waging of war. The 76-year-old Edmonds man, a tired Marine is reminded of sacrifice every morning when he gets dressed.
“I was in combat, I was wounded twice in Korea. That’s where I lost my arm, in Korea.” Clark said Wednesday.
His generation came of age within the confines of wartime sacrifice. When World War II began, he was a teenager attending boys boarding school in the Kent Valley.
“We were in the library when the news came that Pearl Harbor had been bombed,” Clark said. By 1942, gasoline was being rationed, automakers had quit building new cars, and a food stamp program had been announced. In 1943, rationing coupons were distributed and Americans at home had to make to with limited supplies of gas, meat, sugar, butter and even shoes.
Here on the West Coast there were evening blackouts, when blackout screens were required to cover their windows.
During high school in Seattle, Clark remembers collecting old newspapers and pots and pans for salvage materials to be used in the War effort.
Clark’s older brother Boyd joined the Navy in 1942 and was assigned to a destroyer.
“We had a blue star in the window, showing we had a service member in the family,” he said.
In 1945, Clark joined the Marine Corps and served until 1948. In 1950, just months after marrying he was called back for the Korean War. He was a leader in an infantry squad in Easy Co. of the 7th Marine Regiment.
“In June of 1951, we were advancing up a hill, and Chinese mortars hit us,” Clark said. They killed five or six people and wounded seven or eight. I lost my arm due to shrapnel. I ended up on a Navy hospital ship, the Haven.
“That’s where they actually took my arm off, it was June 5.” He said as if it were yesterday.
After the Korean War, Clark got an education and worked for the state. He and his wife, Charlotte raised three children. He agrees that in 2003 the notion of sacrifice is foreign for many Americans.
“Unless it hits close to home, life goes on as usual. You’ll go out and get your pizza or go to that movie tonight,” he said. “But my heart goes out to those people sitting in harm’s way right now, I tell you.”
And in war, he said, “You’re never certain what’s going to take place, you never know.”
“That’s what those kids are going through now.” Clark said, “My hat goes off to them. They’re in harm’s way, and they’re going to be a target for somebody.”
Wartime 2003? We can always switch off the TV.
We should never forget the thousand of Americans who are there, who can’t turn it off, who are making a huge sacrifice.
Columnist Julie Muhistein:
425-339-3460 or
Boyce Clark, E-2-7...1950-1951