thedrifter
12-21-06, 08:12 PM
James Brady On Media
Combat Christmas
James Brady, 12.21.06, 6:00 AM ET
As the media should be reporting this weekend, this is going to be the fourth consecutive Christmas U.S. troops have spent in the Middle East, fighting this war.
Any American who ever spent even a single Christmas in combat beyond the seas can tell you in exquisite detail where it was, and when, and how it felt to be far from home and in harm’s way at Christmastime.
Remember the opening scene of the film White Christmas, Crosby and Danny Kaye as a couple of nightclub hoofers masquerading as GIs somewhere in Europe on the night before a "big push," doing their Yuletide act in front of a painted snowy New England village scene as the gruff old general benignly looks on. Remember any one of those great World War II love songs, such as "I'll Be Home for Christmas ... If Only in My Dreams." Remember Ed Murrow's CBS Christmas-with-the-troops shows from Korea.
We'll have more embedded war correspondents and reporters and network crews and radio hookups and cable talk shows from the front than Bobby Lee had Confederates. It's the media age, and Iraq is a media war, and in many ways it'll be a media Christmas.
Here was what Christmas was like up in the mountains of North Korea in 1951, second winter of the war. I'd gotten there as a replacement rifle platoon leader at Thanksgiving, and now our battalion of the 7th Marines had pulled back into a reserve area a few miles behind the front line for Christmas so that for a brief time we would eat hot meals and sleep on cots in big army tents heated by reeking oil stoves, instead of burrowing like animals into the bunkers and caves up on the main line of resistance. Best of all, for a few weeks we would be training and running field problems but wouldn't be fighting.
On Christmas Eve that year, the Marine artillery thought it would be a swell idea to celebrate by firing off some red and green star shells and illuminating flares to explode right over the line precisely at midnight. From the reserve area we could see the fireworks show and enjoy it. But the North Koreans weren't in on the joke. They concluded those crazy Marines were attacking again and for the next few minutes shelled the hell out of the American front lines. Marines, who are easily entertained, thought this was hilarious.
There were other problems, here at the reserve area, where several tents were destroyed by fires set accidentally when the sagging tent canvas brushed against the furnaces or were set aflame by careless smoking. Col. Noel C. Gregory, the battalion commander who had fought on Guadalcanal 10 years earlier, felt the rash of fires reflected badly on his leadership. He chewed out people and named Lt. Duffy the battalion fire warden. Duffy, a Holy Cross graduate who sported a handlebar mustache, promptly burned down his own tent.
On Christmas morning, cold and cloudy, Father Kennedy, the plump young Navy Chaplain, resplendent in his vestments and scarlet wool scarf worn over cold weather gear and Marine boondockers, said Mass on the parade ground with an altar cloth spread on the hood of a jeep. Everyone turned out and sang hymns, even some of the Baptists. Mass over, Marines played tackle football on the frozen ground without helmets or pads. Navy corpsmen, those who weren't themselves playing, patched up the casualties.
Marine engineers somehow rigged up a sort of stage on the football field, and on Christmas afternoon in falling snow the USO treated us to several scenes from Born Yesterday. Former Marine and newspaperman-turned-actor Paul Douglas played Harry, the bullying lead, with his actual wife Jan Sterling as the dumb blonde and a Broadway juvenile named Keith Andes as the hired tutor and love interest. Most of the Marines had never seen a stage play before and whooped it up. Miss Sterling, in high heels and a short, pink, sexy dress over GI long johns, earned the loudest cheers.
Officers and senior NCOs had booze and enlisted men beer. And that night two Marines stole a jeep, painted "war correspondent" on the side and drove south. They got about 15 miles before being arrested by the MPs. Their defense, as if it explained everything fully: "We weren't deserting, sir, just looking for *****s."
That was one war, one Christmas, a long time ago, and one Marine's story. This weekend, this Christmas, we’ll be reading and hearing and seeing plenty of other stories from another war, also a long way off.
Ellie
Combat Christmas
James Brady, 12.21.06, 6:00 AM ET
As the media should be reporting this weekend, this is going to be the fourth consecutive Christmas U.S. troops have spent in the Middle East, fighting this war.
Any American who ever spent even a single Christmas in combat beyond the seas can tell you in exquisite detail where it was, and when, and how it felt to be far from home and in harm’s way at Christmastime.
Remember the opening scene of the film White Christmas, Crosby and Danny Kaye as a couple of nightclub hoofers masquerading as GIs somewhere in Europe on the night before a "big push," doing their Yuletide act in front of a painted snowy New England village scene as the gruff old general benignly looks on. Remember any one of those great World War II love songs, such as "I'll Be Home for Christmas ... If Only in My Dreams." Remember Ed Murrow's CBS Christmas-with-the-troops shows from Korea.
We'll have more embedded war correspondents and reporters and network crews and radio hookups and cable talk shows from the front than Bobby Lee had Confederates. It's the media age, and Iraq is a media war, and in many ways it'll be a media Christmas.
Here was what Christmas was like up in the mountains of North Korea in 1951, second winter of the war. I'd gotten there as a replacement rifle platoon leader at Thanksgiving, and now our battalion of the 7th Marines had pulled back into a reserve area a few miles behind the front line for Christmas so that for a brief time we would eat hot meals and sleep on cots in big army tents heated by reeking oil stoves, instead of burrowing like animals into the bunkers and caves up on the main line of resistance. Best of all, for a few weeks we would be training and running field problems but wouldn't be fighting.
On Christmas Eve that year, the Marine artillery thought it would be a swell idea to celebrate by firing off some red and green star shells and illuminating flares to explode right over the line precisely at midnight. From the reserve area we could see the fireworks show and enjoy it. But the North Koreans weren't in on the joke. They concluded those crazy Marines were attacking again and for the next few minutes shelled the hell out of the American front lines. Marines, who are easily entertained, thought this was hilarious.
There were other problems, here at the reserve area, where several tents were destroyed by fires set accidentally when the sagging tent canvas brushed against the furnaces or were set aflame by careless smoking. Col. Noel C. Gregory, the battalion commander who had fought on Guadalcanal 10 years earlier, felt the rash of fires reflected badly on his leadership. He chewed out people and named Lt. Duffy the battalion fire warden. Duffy, a Holy Cross graduate who sported a handlebar mustache, promptly burned down his own tent.
On Christmas morning, cold and cloudy, Father Kennedy, the plump young Navy Chaplain, resplendent in his vestments and scarlet wool scarf worn over cold weather gear and Marine boondockers, said Mass on the parade ground with an altar cloth spread on the hood of a jeep. Everyone turned out and sang hymns, even some of the Baptists. Mass over, Marines played tackle football on the frozen ground without helmets or pads. Navy corpsmen, those who weren't themselves playing, patched up the casualties.
Marine engineers somehow rigged up a sort of stage on the football field, and on Christmas afternoon in falling snow the USO treated us to several scenes from Born Yesterday. Former Marine and newspaperman-turned-actor Paul Douglas played Harry, the bullying lead, with his actual wife Jan Sterling as the dumb blonde and a Broadway juvenile named Keith Andes as the hired tutor and love interest. Most of the Marines had never seen a stage play before and whooped it up. Miss Sterling, in high heels and a short, pink, sexy dress over GI long johns, earned the loudest cheers.
Officers and senior NCOs had booze and enlisted men beer. And that night two Marines stole a jeep, painted "war correspondent" on the side and drove south. They got about 15 miles before being arrested by the MPs. Their defense, as if it explained everything fully: "We weren't deserting, sir, just looking for *****s."
That was one war, one Christmas, a long time ago, and one Marine's story. This weekend, this Christmas, we’ll be reading and hearing and seeing plenty of other stories from another war, also a long way off.
Ellie